


KMOMNBO - Adopt & Punch Collection

by KarmaMayOrMayNotBeOkay



Series: KMOMNBO - Monthly Challenges [1]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: A look into the past, Canon-Typical Violence, Challenge Response, Crack, Death Watch (Star Wars), Don't Like Don't Read, HARD, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I don't like shipping teenagers, I had a weird time tagging K2, Jocasta is our queen, Mandalorian OC, Misunderstandings, Oh god did I really just finish a fic, Oh no plot, Panic Attacks, Plo doesn't take revenge, Qui-Gon gets punched, Slow To Update, We love him, What Have I Done, character potrayed unpopularly, councilors ignore the force for once, don't fight me on that cowards, he deals out justice, he deserves it to be fair, i hope your happy bastards, i nearly die writing a chapter, plus - Freeform, quinlan is a bastard, skin sensitivity is a problem for mando'ad change my fucking mind, subtle reverse adoption, the first chapter definitely counts as adoption, they'd be great vod, verbal beatdown implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:22:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 18
Words: 27,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26262604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KarmaMayOrMayNotBeOkay/pseuds/KarmaMayOrMayNotBeOkay
Summary: My responses to mneiai's fic challenge for September. May or may not be completely crack filled. I'll deny it to the end.
Relationships: 212th Attack Battalion & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jon Antilles & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Obi-Wan & His Other Shiny New Henmother, Obi-Wan Kenobi & His Shiny New Henmother, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Jocasta Nu, Obi-Wan Kenobi & K2SO, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Plo Koon, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Quinlan Vos, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Satine Kryze
Series: KMOMNBO - Monthly Challenges [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1912549
Comments: 533
Kudos: 632
Collections: Anything But Qui-Gon, Punch Qui-Gon and Adopt Obi-Wan, all my homies hate qui-gon





	1. Skraan

**Author's Note:**

> I write pretty much solely for fun, and am not the greatest fic writer but I hope you enjoy my responses to this months challenge. No big warnings apply.

Obi-Wan was, at the time of the incident, on a mission with his master. Not an unusual occurrence for a padawan. It was the setting itself that was making him uncomfortable. He would never admit it aloud, but his master’s choice of place to gather information was seedy. He saw the benefits of course, could see how effective it really was, but it still made him uncomfortable all the same.

People stared. He figured that in these parts it was more unusual to see someone of his age in a bar, and hopefully not of his own negligence to properly conceal the fact that he was a jedi. He ducked his head at the thought and hid a nervous wince. Qui-Gon looked back at him for a brief moment from his place at the counter, no doubt having felt  _ something _ in the force.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a Mandalorian staring up at him from their datapad. He couldn’t discern their expression due to the obvious helmet, but due to the force around them, as dulled as it was by what he assumed was at least somewhat beskar, he would have thought that they were furrowing their brows. Whatever they might have been saying, if they were saying anything at all, was drowned out by the other patrons.

Obi-Wan was curious about the Mando’s apparent interest, but it was somewhat layered with paranoia, knowing the reputation that Mandalorians had. Obi-Wan figured that they we’re close enough to Mandalorian space that it wasn’t very unusual to see a few around the place and tried to use that strain of thought to filter out the protests and concerns flooding his mind.

Qui-Gon had clearly finished up talking to whoever was manning the bar, and made his way over to him, his steps rang a little louder than they would’ve otherwise, so Obi-Wan figured that whatever information he had received was either outdated or unappreciated. He’d bet on either one.

He gripped his shoulder, and the irritation, while not predominant, was clearly audible. “This place doesn’t have anything else for us, we’ll make our way over to the next closest place, and maybe if we’re lucky, we can finally finish up this mission once and for all.” Qui-Gon was frustrated, and as a result, Obi-Wan made no attempt to voice his concerns, or the fact that they already looked like they ran around in sandstorms for fun.

His stomach however, had no such qualms and made a light growl. Qui-Gon clearly didn’t hear or elected to ignore it as he tugged his wrist and made his way out of the cantina. Obi-Wan glanced back when he heard footsteps, only to see the Mandalorian with the datapad from earlier. They stood maybe three feet away from Qui-Gon and him.

Qui-Gon clearly felt him halt, and looked back to see the same sight. The Mando had a holdout blaster sheathed at the small of their back, and had a utility belt slung over their black and blue painted armor, with notable yellow designs on the vambraces.

“Are you going to feed the ad’ika there?” It was a harmless enough question, but felt sharp enough to cut. Obi-Wan knew instinctively that the person in that helmet was glaring at Qui-Gon like any second he would bother to combust so they didn’t have to light them on fire themselves. They had planted themselves firmly as if that would root them there too.

Qui-Gon, in a moment of semi-insanity, responded harshly. “You should stay out of business that isn’t your own.” They pointedly looked at them accusingly. The Mando, in response, stepped forward and looked like they wanted to strangle his master.

“Your adiik there looks like they’re going to fall over in the next sandstorm you seem to be dragging them into if you don’t feed them di’kut.” Their response was as sharp as the last one. “I’m expressing some  _ friendly _ concern.” They emphasized the word friendly almost forcefully, seeming like they were two inches away from wringing Qui-Gon’s neck. Which seemed to be the next thing on their agenda.

It only hit Obi-Wan now, how unusual it was to have someone express so much concern over a simple skipped meal. Or notice how weathered they looked. Obi-Wan pondered this and missed his masters next remark in an already near hostile situation. He was only startled back into reality by a noticeable crash. Qui-Gon was on the floor, cradling his nose and the area around it. The entire thing would likely swell into one big bruise by tomorrow and he internally winced. On the other hand, the Mandalorian still had their fist clenched in an upwards swing, but swiftly brought it down when Obi-Wan directed his attention towards them. 

The Mandalorian strides his way, took his wrist in a firm grip, and basically dragged him back to the table he noticed them at earlier. They pushed him down into a seat and handed him a piece of laminated flimsi that he assumed qualified as a menu around here. They jabbed it aggressively and then sat down themselves. “You are going to pick  _ something _ off of that menu, and then I am going to sit here and make sure you eat it _ all _ . I’ve got cousins like you and none of your excuses will stop me.” They practically snarled. In any other situation, it would have been terrifying. Instead of terrifying and slightly endearing. 

They looked at the flimsi and picked something that sounded vaguely appealing. He was ignoring it at the moment, but if you paid too much attention, you could hear Qui-Gon groaning from somewhere near the entrance to the cantina.


	2. Ca'nara

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh no, it has p l o t.

Force only knew how he had gotten to this point.

He brushed off his robes, grimaced, and looked warily at the door he prepared to enter in mere moments. As soon as the council stopped to actually let him in instead of fussing over his existence in the next room over. He wasn’t sure why he expected them to handle this better than any other kriffing situation handed to them before, but it was still upsetting. He was standing alone in the hallway, waiting for the council to hurry it up. He took the time to contemplate his location, which may have, in the end, been a mistake.

He was in the Jedi temple on Coruscant, it was almost refreshing in comparison to some of the places he had been in recent years, and if he hadn’t known about the ‘issue’ in the senate, he’d have probably settled into it like an old friend. The temple halls were achingly familiar, having grown up in them and the fact alone that he could feel life, bright and glowing in the halls was almost enough to make like Obi-Wan and hide away somewhere to just cry a little.

He ushered the thought to the back of his head. His feet were tapping on the floor, a tick Master Tholme had tried to discourage but inevitably failed to do. The council was clearly still arguing about  _ something,  _ and that alone made a scowl stretch across his face. They were unbelievably lucky that he was here and not somewhere on Naboo, ready to strike down a Sith Lord of his own.

He had determined the date some time ago, and realistically, he wouldn’t even need to show up for  _ years _ if he wanted to warn them about their downfall and still give them time to prepare. For kriff sake, he was just barely a padawan here!

At long last, the council chamber finally opened its doors. Some of the Jedi inside were clearly disgruntled, but he wasn’t here to be ignored because some arrogant councilman didn’t bother to listen to him because smaller him was a hellion.

He stepped inside, took the looks with as much stride as possible and waited for  _ someone _ to speak up. They must’ve not been expecting him to look the way he did, because some of them seemed visibly surprised. He had _ tried  _ for this meeting but he supposed being hunted by the Empire left a permanent effect on people. His robes were clean, his boots weren’t a disaster, he would have personally counted that as a win.

“You may begin..Knight Vos?” The councilman phrased it as a question, and he quickly corrected them. “Master Vos.” He said promptly. A pang hit him when he said it. Aayla was an early victim of the purges, and he missed her dearly. If he did this right, she wouldn’t have to die again, he could save hundreds of Jedi.

“I am here to inform you of the downfall of the Republic, and the Jedi Order with it.” Some eyes we’re disbelieving, some we’re wary, and others we’re solemn.” All of them needed to be informed either way, disbelief or not.

He paused to take a deep breath before he continued.

“Beginning with the-”

**-**

Quinlan had probably spent less time preparing for deep cover missions then he had spent in the council room today. By the time he was  _ finally _ released, he had a strong urge to stomp out the meeting like a particularly angry child, but didn’t, out of respect for the fact that he was most definitely a responsible adult at this point and the fact that the councilors were very clearly deep in thought, some immersing themselves into the force to process what they had just heard.

He was in Hutt space, when it occurred, he was scouting up information, more unrecognizable than ever, when two stormtroopers marched in, blasters unholstered. The bartender didn’t take kindly to those types, tried to order them out, but the stormtroopers proceeded anyways. He tried to blend his cover more thoroughly, flirting up a storm, giving people small nudges with the force every once in a while. The stormtroopers didn’t appear to find what, or  _ who _ , they wanted and he restrained himself from audibly sighing in relief.

When he left, he saw two more stormtroopers on one street corner, another pair on the next, a patrol configured around the seedy town he was situated in. This was concerning, but not the first time it occurred. His ride was set to leave in three hours, he tried to talk his way through the checkpoint, using a mix of natural charm and the force to slide his way through.

Apparently the imp under the bucket didn’t have any appreciation for him though, considering that they shot him in the back of the head.

**-**

The council approached him more after the initial meeting, either officially or in back corridors, asking frightenedly precise questions he didn’t always have the answer to. He was surprised by the group that took the second option, having not considered them the type.

Few knew about it beyond the masters, and even then that didn’t stop the torrent of stupid questions from people that should have known better.

When Qui-Gon Jinn approached him for the first time, Quinlan nearly dropped his breakfast. He stood there broodingly and before he could ask whatever question he was going to, Quinlan let an impulsive question of his own slip past his lips.

“Do you happen to have a padawan?”

**-**

Quinlan dodged around small initiates, sleep deprived knights and the occasional instructor as he practically flew down the hallway.

He let his memory guide him to where he needed to go, and hoped that his appearance somehow didn’t change this reality down to such a small, crucial detail. He rounded the corner, determined once he saw, and rapped his knuckles on Initiate Kenobi’s door.

He was lucky enough to catch him before what he remembered to be his next round of classes, desperate for enough experience to make some master choose him. It was a lucky day for Obi-Wan, considering that was entirely what he was here to do.

The tired initiate opened their door, and nearly assumed his identity due to the familiar (exactly the same, not that he’d know.) color schemed robes. But then he looked up, and doubted it for a split second again. Obi-Wan’s confusion was momentarily adorable and Quinlan couldn’t help but grin.

“I’m Master Vos, and I’d like you to be my padawan Obi-Wan.” The initiate in question, mouthed his last name like it’d change if he stared at him hard enough before he fully processed the statement, and promptly sputtered.

Quinlan’s grin only grew wider.

**-**

Yoda gave him a disappointed look, as if he was still a child who’d bow to his whims, and Quinlan glared in response.

“I know your plan, and for the sake of  _ padawan _ Kenobi’s better health, he would be better off with a  **restraining order** on Master Jinn.” Quinlan practically snarled. Very un-Jedi like behavior, but he had never been a very good Jedi anyways.

Yoda did not flinch, did not stand down and concede, but he did give a hard look when the last sentence slipped out of his mouth.

“Reasoning, you must provide.” He said it hauntingly, as if Quinlan didn’t have an entire list to provide, like he did this off  _ complete _ impulse. Quin gave Yoda a pointed look, and took a deep breath, the very same he took when he rattled off the fall of the Republic.

“Qui-Gon Jinn is, by all reasonings or to be aforementioned evidence, is not fit to provide care to any-”

**-**

Let it be said that Quinlan Vos was stubborn.

**-**

“Padawan, first order of business, you're going to go introduce me to Master Nu, we are going to offer our help for the rest of the afternoon, and then you're going to give her a hug.” It was short, prompt, and wildly unusual, but moving into a Master-Padawan dorm could wait for later, he decided. He missed Jocasta. 

**Outtake:**

It was a completely normal day for Qui-Gon Jinn, probably better considering that Master Yoda had stopped pestering him about taking the Kenobi boy on as a padawan. He had a cup of tea, a plan to take a nice walk and do some katas later, it was generally a pleasant time.

He was walking down a flight of stairs, calm as could be, when  _ something  _ hit him in the base of the spine. As a result, not only did it hurt like hell, he lost his balance on the steps, and he and his tea went flying.

When he was able to get up again, he noticed the Vos character hurrying down the steps, presumably to help him up. “Are you okay, Master Jinn?” Vos sounded remarkably unconcerned for someone who had appeared to just see him fly down a flight of stairs. He ignored it in the moment, but there was a wisp of a grin pulling at their face.

~

Qui-Gon, perhaps a week later, was walking through a hallway to survey a lightsaber training when he was practically knocked over by what appeared to be two padawans rushing somewhere, barely having the time to throw back a ‘Sorry!’ before he noticed the dreadlocks on one of them.

If Qui-Gon had been slightly more observant, and not focused on complaining about the audacity of some children, he would have noticed the snickering older Vos at the next intersection.

~

Qui-Gon was on a mission and in pursuit, he cursed as the target made a sharp turn to the right, he hit the pedal and did his best to catch up. Nearly inches away from the target's speeder, a sudden pain erupted in his right shoulder, forcing him to haphazardly break or crash into the next wall. 

He brought it down, and he bared his teeth at the sky, swearing up a storm. His shoulder was lucky to not have a deeper hole in it, his target must have somehow had backup surveying from the rooftops. He could focus on that later, he needed to regain his lead or risk failing.

In a hotel room two figures we’re conversing, seemingly arguing over payment. An IQA-11 rifle stood propped up next to a door. The Mandalorian and Kiffar we’re getting progressively louder as they argued. The Mando almost scrapped their black and blue paint as fast as they shoved their yellow gauntlets into the Kiffars space, pointing aggressively.

“I refuse to take 8,000 credits for shooting one demagolka! I’m not boracyk! It barely qualified as a job!” They snarled while jabbing their fingers inches away from the Kiffar’s face.

“You did what I asked, it’s a job! Take the credits Herrah!” The Kiffar stubbornly insisted in response.


	3. Haast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part two of Mandomom shenanigan's, you should read the first part beforehand.

Herrah Viern, would realistically, like to believe that she is at least somewhat a good person. She upholds the codex, helps teach her nieces and nephews Mando’a when she’s got spare time and assassianates slavers, and salver supporters throughout the galaxy. 

She knows her morals are twisted, twisted in ways some people would proclaim inhuman, she takes jobs that sometimes, in the end get innocent people caught up, but she _tries_ . She wants her family to be able to look at her and admire her _kote_ or _gett’se._ She wants to uphold her clan pride, and be seen as a role model to her baby cousins, her brothers children.

In front of this child, this red-haired, sand covered, child, she doesn’t know exactly what she feels, but it’s something good. The child in question was lanky, probably barely old enough to be going out and doing missions with the bastard in the entryway. As soon as his food arrives, she pushes the bowl towards him with one hand, waiting for him to pick up the spoon.

She asks the waitress for a glass of water, watches the kid pick up his spoon and sits back to make sure that he does indeed eat it all. He’s too small to do otherwise. Spoonful after spoonful is eaten, and the kid must’ve realised just how hungry he was, because he was shoveling that stew down his throat like it was the only thing he had eaten for a week.

Based on the impression she got off the giant she had suckerpunched, it might’ve been. The thought sent a scowl to her face, the kid, for some reason had slowed down and gave her a look. In return she angled her _buy’ce_ towards him and gestured at his bowl. “Eat it all, I don’t know what you're doing stopping.” 

The waitress from earlier made her way over to Herrah’s table, and placed the glass in front of her. Herrah gave a nod in thanks and lifted her helmet off so that she wouldn’t have to ask for a straw after already having them bring the cup to her.

The kid looked at her curiously, and Herrah, reminded of her nephew's reaction to her heterochromia, put a grin on her face and winked at him. The kid froze, and quickly went back to eating his stew. This continued until she heard the scraping noises on the side of the bowl. At this, she got up, drank whatever was left of her water, and laid enough credits on the table to pay for his meal.

The kid, done with his meal, looked back at the place where Herrah had decked what she assumed was some kind of supervisor, hopefully not his parent. She lifted her _buy’ce_ back onto her head and patted this kid on his back. “I’m not going to say I’m sorry, but if you live in the system, I can probably get you home.” She admitted. 

The kid, as if finally remembering that he was technically with a stranger, grimaced slightly. “I live on Coruscant, and I really should remain with my master.” He, after his statement, froze.

Herrah herself realized what he had called him, and a soft fury bubbled up in her chest. “Kid, do you want me to shoot him? Because _I will_ .” She practically snarled. The kid’s eyes widened before he hurriedly started rambling. “Oh force, it’s not like that! I’m not a slave, he’s my teacher! Please, very much, do _not_ shoot him.” He was panicked, and Herrah placed a hand on his shoulder. “Kid, kid, it’s fine! I just misunderstood.”

The kid was practically hyperventilating at this point and Herrah quickly took her _buy’ce_ off and kneeled on the floor in front of him. She placed her other hand on the adjacent shoulder. “Kid, look at me, it’s fine, I swear!.” Green eyes practically looked into her soul, and Herrah felt her heart crack a little.

The kid, thankfully, had not cried, or else she probably would have panicked right alongside him and then they’d have two messes to deal with. The patrons of the bar were probably looking at them like they we’re insane at this point, and Herrah quickly grabbed her bucket and ushered them both out the door.

“Oh geez, m’sorry kid. I can get you home anyways, I have to stop by.” She apologized. The copper hair was reflecting the sunlight and in an absent minded reflex, she brushed the sand off of his clothes with one gauntleted hand before she realized what she was doing.

The kid took a deep breath before he replied. “That works. I’m sorry for my outburst, I’m Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

“Herrah Viern, really it was fine, I’ve had to deal with panic attacks before.” She reassured. The kid froze at her statement, as if he really hadn’t realized that he was having one in the first place.

He hesitated before speaking again. “I still don’t feel right just leaving him here, the council is likely to chew me out for it.” Herrah snorted and pointed out the direction of her ship at once. “If whatever your council is really has a problem with it, I’ll come in myself. That man really doesn’t have a right to be educating people if he ignores basic needs like that.”

The kid appeared startled by what she had said before he continued to follow her. A contemplative look on his face as they went.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This may need editing.


	4. Kar'taylir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jocasta Nu takes no shit, and exhibits concern.

Jocasta managed the archives, kept in shape, and didn’t actively keep up on temple gossip other than what an excited knight told her, a confused initiate, or one of her friends. So, as a result, she hadn’t heard about the issue revolving around Obi-Wan Kenobi until the Initiate himself was looking up information in the archives of questionable topics.

It wasn’t entirely unusual for people to read what appeared to be random documents, but Initiate Kenobi was continuously coming in and looking at information on farming of all things. She figured that he wasn’t interested in it originally, but she was glad that he had taken a break from his almost excessive studying to read something else.

It was only becoming concerning when Initiate Kenobi began to ignore parts of his studies that she herself knew he was taking courses on and at least somewhat enjoyed. He came into the archives looking stressed beyond belief, before immersing himself in the files that he left off on. She politely did not voice her concerns to him, but she did make sure he marked his pages and asked him about the content of what he was reading.

She began to hear an oddly large amount about Qui-Gon Jinn, and as the days marched on, Initiate Kenobi only grew worse in stature. She began to survey the force around him, and frowned at what she encountered. 

He was clearly meditating regularly, but something was stressing him out enough to bring doubt into his mind. Jocasta had seen enough of this around him, and decided that she was done being a polite observer on whatever situation he was dealing with.

She made her way over to Initiate Kenobi’s desk, tapped a knuckle on his desk, barely loud enough to bother, and settled herself for whatever answer she would receive.

Obi-Wan looked up at her with bags underneath his eyes, and the very beginning of tears at the corner of his green eyes. The sight made Jocasta want to pat his copper hair and tell him that everything would be okay. That would’ve been highly unprofessional, and she restrained herself from doing so.

Shoving the thought down, she coughed into her hand. “I apologise for disrupting you Initiate Kenobi, but is something wrong? You don’t exactly appear to be at your best.” she inquired.

Obi-Wan flinched, as if reminded of something at her question, and his reply was barely loud enough for her to hear. “I’m sorry for disturbing you Master Nu, I know that the force has it’s reasoning, but I’m not entirely prepared to leave for the Agri-Corps.” He admitted.

Jocasta reeled back, shocked at his statement. “I myself was unaware of this Initiate Kenobi, from what I’ve heard from your friend Vos and some of the knights around, I would have assumed that you would have a master entirely prepared to take you on.” The confusion was audible in her voice. Kenobi’s reply did explain away most of the stress she had seen in him.

“I would have assumed based off my own knowledge of your interests that you would have been placed in the Explor-Corps at the very least, are you not more strong in the unifying force then the living?” She was slightly confused.

Kenobi was calmer in body language at that point, but the near tears didn’t go away. “That’s what I would have assumed myself Master Nu, but Master Yoda assured me that it was to be the Agri-Corps.” The poor boy sounded miserable. 

Jocasta placed a hand on his shoulder and gave what she hoped was at least a somewhat reassuring smile. “If you’d like, I can speak to Master Yoda about your assignment. I’m sure with proper encouragement he would think it through again.” Her smile might have been slightly too wide, but Jocasta had a weak spot for Obi-Wan, he was a very good learner, asked good questions and never hesitated to ask her help in locating something.

The polite thing to do would be to insist that Master Jocasta not bother Yoda at all, but Obi-Wan, deep down, wanted to cause Yoda at least slight trouble.

-

Master Yoda was sipping his tea when Jocasta made her way over. He seemed at least somewhat surprised to see her. “Surprising, it is, to see you out of the archives.” He remarked. Jocasta smiled, but it was at least partially forced. “I’ve come to discuss Obi-Wan Kenobi’s Corps assignment. He has been undeniably stressed about it.’ She greeted.

Yoda did not express surprise. “Get acclimated to it, he will. Not your concern, it is.” With every word he spoke, Jocasta was becoming more and more upset.

“I simply find it difficult to believe that such a talented boy would be sent to the Corps, and to a Corp that doesn’t suit his talents nonetheless.” She outright frowned.

Yoda put a small smile on his face, and leaned forward as if he was telling her a secret. “Be Qui-Gon’s padawan, he will. Soon enough.” Jocasta, not being up to date with the recent news in the temple, appeared visibly surprised, but her mood quickly changed into a thick coat of displeasure. “You wish to manipulate Initiate Kenobi’s future, would like to try to fix your grand padawan with the cost of Kenobi? Nonsense. At this point I’m entirely willing to take him on as a padawan myself!” She huffed.

Yoda laughed, as if Kenobi would never consider the idea, as if he had already predicted his entire future, and made no room to reply.

-

Jocasta marched her way back to her archives, releasing her more aggressive emotions into the force as she went. She gently opened the door, stepped inside and took a deep breath.

Initiate Kenobi was exactly where she had left him, looking slightly confused at her appearance. She strode forward, and re-enacted her position at his desk. 

“Would you like to be my padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi?” The boy in question froze on the spot, and gaped slightly. Before he hurriedly replied as if he took a moment to process his emotions, she would rescind her offer. “Yes! Absolutely Master Nu, thank you!” He blurted.

Jocasta gave him a smile, and crushed any thought of Yoda’s earlier interaction and purged it from her mind.

-

Scarcely an hour later, Jocasta had discussed paperwork with Obi-Wan, and gave him instructions on how to apply for a Master-Padawan dorm. She reassured him that she only had a quick errand to run.

It was perhaps spiteful for a Jedi, but when she saw Yoda in the halls, she gave him a very pointed look as she passed, and he offered no congratulations in return.

Qui-Gon Jinn was not entirely reputable at raising padawans, and she was going to inform him of the burden she had surely taken off of his chest. If he ended up speechless and with a handprint on his face, no one would believe him, or if they did, they would surely take Master Nu’s side. She didn’t do such things without good reasoning afterall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a treat, have a Herrah doodle. ;)  
> https://saneotaku.tumblr.com/post/628388764998418432/herrah-viern-from-kmomnbo-adopt-punch


	5. Aliit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look into Herrah, and the experiences that made her herself.

Hakim and Herrah were born on a new moon, under a clear sky. Herrah, the daughter, was born with very typical features of a northerner _Mando’ade_. The buir’e wouldn’t know until later, but her blue eyes would fade into a heterochromatic pair of baby blue and hazel. She was the first child.

Hakim, the son, was born with dark blonde hair, and lighter skin than his sister. He was far more peaceful, and his eyes would darken into a matching hazel pair, identical in shade to his sister’s left eye. They would both grow to be taller than their parents, and some of their aunts and uncles, but at 6’2, Herrah had stopped growing. Perhaps it was a combination of Herrah’s spite and genetics, but Hakin topped off at 6’4.

They had no siblings, but their cousins made up for it. Their first language was Mando’a, and their parents desperately tried to speak more Basic around them. The twins very pointedly did not stop speaking in Mando’a, but they understood Basic at the very least. This problem wasn’t rectified until one of their uncles sat down with them and explained that they needed to speak Basic if they ever wanted clients.

The twins still spoke their beautiful Mando’a, but when asked, they’d do their best to speak Basic.

The twins clung to each other desperately, despite their differences and grudges, and only began to grow apart when all Herrah wanted to do was shoot things, and her brother began to sigh about boys. He didn’t neglect his training, but Herrah just couldn’t get it, didn’t understand what was so attractive about people, and as a result she spent a lot more time shooting harder and harder targets.

They both grew up to be strong _Mando’ade_ . And as they grew more used to being _beroya’se,_ they smoothed their edges back up and grew closer through comm calls and family dinners and her brother sending her weird things in the mail.

They laughed, and discussed bounties, and then Herrah was invited to observe a _riduurok_ and her heart almost dropped in her chest. She was excited for her _vod_ , but she had heard little of her brother getting married and it stung, slightly.

She would never admit it, but she was terrified of drifting away from Hakim again. Their teens we’re over and she didn’t want to go back to that. Hakim, interacting with people with charisma while his sister sat home, polished her blasters and tried to make near impossible shots in her backyard. They only saw each other when their Buir’e we’re home to make _tiingilar_ and quips at them both.

She went to the _riduurok,_ met her brother’s _riduur_ and introduced herself. It was nice. She had to admit to enjoying it.

Her fears were not justified. Somehow, her inlaw found the time and put in the effort to invite her to almost _everything_ . They inquired after her health, shared dumb stories about her brother with her and in return she taught them how to prepare Viern Clan _tiingilar_ . She invited them to go shooting with her, asked them for help when Hakim was doing something undeniably dumb at her place, and when they adopted an _ik’aad_ , Herrah finished a bounty in record time and flew home like the Cornelian hells were on her heels. She doesn’t like to talk about it, but there were witnesses, and as soon as she held the baby, she might have cried. As Kisa grew up, her lovely niece, Herrah began to send credits back home so that Kisa could get a wonderful first set of armor.

Hakim absolutely despised her for it, but she had savings and Kisa was going to be outfitted as soon as she was big enough to start training and take a pause on growing. She was entirely insistent on this.

She had never been one for adoption herself, she was almost a full time _beroya_ and only took time off to be a _ba’vodu_ or elder _ba’vod’ika_. She never thought herself lonely, she even made friends on the job, whether they be other bounty hunters or clients. The majority we’re bantha crap, admittedly, but she had found a few people that even if they might do weird stuff, could make her laugh for a minute between jobs.

As Hakim’s family grew, and she somehow received more cousins, she just started going to the armourer herself to drop off credits with a warning to not let her family pay. They despaired, she thrived and tiny sets of armor went on everyone who was big enough for it.

Kisa begged her for stories, whether over comm or in person and she mostly obliged, but refused to talk about her teens until Kisa was old enough to understand. When Kisa began to fell slightly excluded due to all her younger vod’e, she came over, brought horribly unhealthy fried bird with her and they ate on the couch and snorted at dumb jokes.

Hakim teasingly asked her when she was finally going to get an adiik of her own and stop stealing his, she had a frown on her face. That was a good question. She wasn’t entirely sure. She served as a provider for Clan Viern and didn’t exactly have the time to contemplate it. She left the decision up for the _Ka'ra_.

-

Two years later, she met a copper haired boy who called himself Obi-Wan, and thought, this could be my legacy. This is who could take my teachings. This is who could bring a little more humanity back to her heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Herrah and bby Kisa  
> https://saneotaku.tumblr.com/post/628437525245149184/herrah-is-the-happiest-aunt-alive-and-if-you-try


	6. Vhekad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A shifting thing, time is. [Warnings: Exotic formatting and general incoherence.]

Obi-Wan was on Tatooine. _Obi-Wan had been on Tatooine for thirteen years._

He and his master came for replacement parts, had trekked into Mos Espa to try and find what they needed. _He went alone to get supplies, non perishables he couldn’t produce himself._

Obi-Wan, at some point, had been way-laid by something in the force. It slipped through his fingers like sand and he ignored the calls from Qui-Gon as he swerved to follow it, driven by instinct alone. _Obi-wan went out into the dunes, way-laid from a presence in the force._

He ignored Qui-Gon’s cries for him to ‘Stop!’. _There was no sound but the beating of his own feet on the sand._

T _h_ e _d_ u _n_ e _s_ h _a_ d _t_ a _k_ e _n_ h _i_ m.

H _e_ h _e_ a _r_ d _a_ c _a_ l _l_. 

Obi-Wan looked down into a canyon. A sudden formation, something he wouldn’t have noticed otherwise.

_The Krayt Dragon rose, and he had heard stories of their might, of their tastes, of their spirituality._

It called again.

A _n_ d _h_ e _c_ a _l_ l _e_ d _b_ a _c_ k.

Two lives. Two moments. The very same dragon.

Qui-Gon, undeterred, not seeing what he saw, took his shoulder. Tried to drag him out of whatever he was seeing.

The dragon had seen him another life, had watched him practice it’s call as a last resort, something to keep himself safe.

And in this life, it’d be able to do that itself.

Qui-Gon left Tatooine confused, and with Anakin Skywalker and a slash bisecting his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm utterly convinced I'm possesed send help. I wrote this as a joke but I Fear


	7. Kar'ta

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan and Herrah. Them.

The flight to Coruscant was an awkward one. Herrah’s ship, a modified RN-290, was only really meant for single person use. All the extra space was dedicated to storage, whether it be of bounties or supplies. It was beautiful, and very clearly well maintained, but even Herrah winced at how little room Obi-Wan would have to move around.

The Neimodia Fury was a very streamlined ship, but she had seen her fair share of wear and tear. Obi-Wan would catch Herrah patting the scars in her hull after they got off on Coruscant. Seemly emotionless under her helmet, if not for the fond air that Obi-Wan himself could feel around her.

Obi-Wan had expected the flight to be a quiet one, and for the most part, it was. Herrah spent most of her time in the cockpit worrying over navigational data. Obi-Wan was offered some modules to work on to pass the time and he did those and a reasonable amount of meditation to contemplate the latest mission.

Every once in a while, Herrah would wander into the rest of the ship, fumble around for food and offer him new things to do when she noticed he was finished with the other modules. She spoke a smattering of Basic and what he assumed was Mando’a whenever she was tired, and this made her accent even thicker.

Once, he had caught her trying to drink a cup of caf with her helmet on, she noticed him and made him swear that he wouldn’t tell anyone. She was embarrassed and clearly exhausted and he assumed that this wasn’t the first time that this had happened.

Actually landing down made Obi-Wan realize, just a little bit, that he was going to miss this. He was going to miss studying in the engine room, Herrah’s rumbling Mando’a, the little nicknames she called him. He had almost forgotten about Qui-Gon at this point, spending five too many minutes laughing while trying to get a heavily muscled Mandalorian back to her room, stumbling along the way.

The Coruscanti air just confirmed the matter. Herrah herself was fully armoured, blasters holstered, filling out _ something  _ on her datapad. Obi-Wan had washed up in her tiny ‘fresher, and exchanged the clothes he had been wearing for the robes in his pack. Herrah had been mildly uncomfortable to learn that he was a Jedi, but her reaction was still better than most. He’d like to pretend that little had changed after that revelation, but he had overheard Herrah muttering about how she ‘Shoulda shot the bastard anyways. Slavers and Jedi, both steal ki-’ while he was meditating in the Neimodia, he had quickly stopped listening after that.

His mission right now was to return to the temple, give his report, and try to ignore the desperate feeling of belonging that the Neimodia Fury and Herrah Viern gave him. He was a  _ Jetii _ , he had no place in the world of a Mandalorian, let alone one like Herrah, who seemed to live a rather solitary lifestyle. It panged, but it was something he had to accept as truth.

-

Herrah was dealing with the irritating paperwork that came with landing where she did on Coruscant, and kept one eye on Obi-Wan as she did. She was probably imagining it, and she was no force-user, but he looked a little solemn as he stepped out onto the landing pad.

She sure as hell was gonna miss the  _ adiika _ , but until then, she was going to stick around just in case to make sure that Ob’ika’s council didn’t need her. If they did, or wanted a sit-rep or something, she would be there. If they didn’t need her after all, she’d probably try to finish up any business she might have and fly back to  _ Manda’yaim _ .

Obi-Wan glanced back at her, and she waved a hand. She figured that was her signal to hurry it up. She finished the page she was on and stopped leaning on Neimodia. She should get this over with. Just like business, she told herself.

-

It turned out, beyond a minor scolding, and Master Koon minorly interrogating Herrah, neither of them we’re in much trouble. It seemed like all the fuss had only risen up after they had Herrah for an interview after having Obi-Wan leave the room for her own accounts on what had occurred. It was a relief, and Obi-Wan was able to breathe a little easier.

Hours later, after reports and some food, Herrah was finally making her way to leave. She didn’t exactly look relieved to leave like Obi-Wan had expected her to, and Obi-Wan, in a small burst of insanity just like his master, had invited her to spend the night in the Jedi temple so she wouldn’t have to leave until tomorrow. There was desperation in his voice, and that combined with the pleading tone, Herrah didn’t exactly have much of a choice.

Obi-Wan told himself that it made sense, so that she would have to spend the night in the Neimodia plotting out a course, but he knew that the request was more selfish than that. He just wanted to spend more time listening to her talk in her accent, wanted to spend more time around her in general.

He was a horrible Jedi, and his attachment surely showed.

-

Herrah should have left yesterday, should have politely declined Ob’ika, but he gave her puppy dog eyes, and Herrah was only so strong.

She stared up at the ceiling, dark hair splayed on the pillow. Back in the cantina, she was being polite, honoring her family by feeding one more stray child, but he was the epitome of  _ mandokarla _ , so much it hurt just to think about leaving him here. It was clear that the man she had encountered was a poor representative of what she saw, that Ob’ika would be perfectly safe, perfectly healthy here.

But her heart burned, and she knew that if Ob’ika ever asked, she would recite the  _ gai bal manda _ without hesitation, without regret.

Herrah had never wanted to be a parent, or a lover, and sometimes not even a friend. She didn’t feel things like other people did, her brand of love was a little different, a little more detached. Ob’ika made her a little more aware of how the people around her felt, how they experienced love.

She could be a  _ buir _ , not just a  _ ba’vodu _ , a _ ba’vod’ika,  _ or a  _ ram’ika,  _ a  _ buir.  _ And that felt right. She would probably never be able to experience some bonds, would never understand the love in holos, the bonds of a  _ riduur _ , but she could feel this love, and that was comforting.

-

Herrah needed to leave, Herrah needed to fly back to  _ Manda’yaim _ . Herrah had overstayed her welcome.

Everytime Obi-Wan heard something along these lines, his heart leaped to his throat and he had to actively steer himself away from marching towards where he knew she was staying and outright begging her to take him with her.

As far as he was concerned, all he would do is take up space in the Neimodia Fury. He might even be a bad omen, being a force user, or her family could just simply reject him. And he knew, he knew because of her morning ramblings, her soft mumbles, just how much she adored her family.

It hurt to think about, more than contemplating asking in the first place. More than thinking about betraying the order in the first place, the betrayal of leaving.

They had known each other for days at best, and this type of thought was irrational, he knew.

But Herrah makes him feel safe. Herrah didn’t downgrade him and criticize him when he was wrong, Herrah Viern gently pointed out where he went wrong, took the time out of her day to do so in the first place, she had sacrificed precious time she could have been using for a bounty, or a call, or simply to go home, to fly him here in the first place.

Obi-Wan didn’t know what a mother was supposed to be like, but he figured it was something like Herrah.

-

Plo Koon, a reputable master of the order, father figure to many, finder, had seen the bond between the Mandalorian and Padawan Kenobi. If anyone looked hard enough, they probably could as well. It was obvious to anyone but them. Or maybe they knew too and were just ignoring it.

He could see the ‘problem’.

Obi-Wan believed dearly, and took the code as seriously as possible. To have what he would have assumed to be an attachment would wreck him. It would make him doubt himself in his mind once more.

Plo had turned a blind eye to many things he should not have, but this was his tipping point. He wanted no part in the ruse that the order we’re desperately trying to cast over themselves. 

Mandalore would be a good place for someone like Obi-wan Kenobi, and that was that.

-

The actual adoption, the mess that came afterwards, was messy, and emotional and perhaps a little beautiful in the eyes of some.

Obi-Wan Viern may not have been a part of the order anymore, but he was still a beacon of light and positivity and pure, unaltered love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm absolutely crying over here. Jesus christ.


	8. Haa'taylir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The discord did this to me. Light on the QGJ hate, but you can feel it in spirit from these people.

Mandalore was not kind at night. Despite the civilization and loudly bartering citizens with lamps and fires and small forges set up, the chill pressed down onto everyone, far outweighing whatever warmth was provided. Obi-Wan shivered inside of his shawl, and fumbled with the small pouch of credits. 

The shopkeep across from him was not scowling, or telling him to hurry it up, but instead looking down at him fondly while holding his already wrapped up groceries. When Obi-Wan hurriedly placed the chit on the counter, the shopkeeper came around from the back of their stall to help them put their supplies in the side-satchel he had snatched from what was probably Qui-Gon’s things.

Obi-Wan was as stubborn as a rancor, but was grateful for the help, his fingers were freezing, and if he had to stand out in the cold any longer he would probably have done a horrible thing. His copper hair, kept longer than usually allowed, kept flopping in his face, The shopkeep waved him off in the end.

“Tell your  _ buir _ to let you sit by the fire when you get home  _ ad _ , you look like death!” They chortled after him. Obi-Wan grimaced, but kept up the ruse. He had to stick to Qui-Gon, and him being his  _ buir _ was the most effective plan on Mandalore. If he got mistaken for a child getting last minute groceries, then, oh well.

The man in question was away, doing something, the place they were staying was rather cold, and didn’t have much food. Obi-Wan had gone to get some himself tonight. He couldn’t wait to get home, eat his contraband snacks and huddle under every blanket in the house.

He wrapped his light green shawl more firmly around himself, and then he proceeded to feel what could only be described as a ‘pang’ in the force. He perked his ears up, useless in this situation, and looked down at his stolen satchel. He could eat outside.

-

Every creche master in the temple was looking on with horror right now, he knew. Both for his language and the situation at hand. If, to them, he was still basically a toddler in their eyes, then the tiny little thing laying in the sand was just a fetus. It was crude language, but accurate.

Obi-Wan very hurriedly picked the child up, thankfully at least somewhat wrapped to protect it from the chilling wind. He himself was more layered, and his breath was coming out like fog every time he exhaled. The baby’s tiny breaths we’re doing the same, and Obi-Wan was grateful for the sign that the child still had some heat.

When Obi-Wan tried to retrace his footsteps in the sand, he had discovered that the wind had blown them away. He tried to reach out with the force, see if he could feel the town he was in. almost fruitless. The force was muted, but Obi-Wan could tell that there was a group nearby. He hoped, desperately, that they'd take him and the baby in for the night.

It could be the people that left it in the first place, could be foodhardy citizens, could be a few  _ Mando’ade _ . Could possibly even be bandits. Obi-Wan, for once, hoped for the best.

-

_ Kyr’tsad _ was the last group Obi-Wan wanted to approach at night with a child. (He says, as if he isn’t a child himself.) But tiny fingers gripped his shawl, and Obi-Wan decided that if it got bad, he’d bring up the Mandalorian codex and completely book it if it had the effect he hoped. Worst case scenario, they somehow know he’s a Jedi and kill him. Best case scenario,  _ Kyr’tsad _ wasn’t full of completely horrible people and they took the child in and maybe gave him a blanket for the night.

As soon as he came into light, the initial reaction was to point their blasters at him, he understood the impulse. One person had actually shot in his general direction, but hit the place next to him. The disgraced  _ Mando’ade _ looked on in stunned silence, before someone gave a shout he didn’t understand and two of them rushed forward.

They didn’t subdue him, as he had initially assumed, but one of them pried the child from his arms despite his protests, and cradled it like he saw the creche masters do before, this was a tick in the right direction. The other _ Kyr’tsad _ Mando had gotten on their knees and tugged his shawl around him tighter as if it would prevent the little heat he had left from leaving him. They spoke to him in rushed Mando’a. 

Obi-Wan carefully stumbled over his next sentence. “Ni liser't jorhaa'ir mando'a.” It was true. If omitted slightly. He had spent three months around _ Mando’ade  _ and his master had once grudgingly told him that he had a knack for languages. He looked towards where the other Mando was holding the child he found.

The Mandalorian looking at him presumably repeated what they had said in basic. “Where did you come from, kid? It's far away from anywhere civilized.” They clicked their tongue at him. “Go sit by the fire, you and your  _ vod  _ must be cold as death out here.” 

Obi-wan decided it was a common enough word to know, and corrected him. “They’re not my family, I’ve never seen them a day in my life. Someone just.. Left them out there on the sand, it was a complete miracle I found them.” Obi-Wan shrugged, and looked away, conflicted and slightly upset at the reminder.

The Mando cursed something under their helmet, and ushered them towards the fire, being stoked by someone into a flaring inferno.

-

For space terrorists,  _ Kyr’tsad _ was particularly kind to children. Considering Obi-Wan’s luck with abductors, that was not a high goal to reach. Not that he was kidnapped this time. He had, at some point, remembered the satchel, and took to snacking since Qui-Gon obviously wasn’t there to tell him off.

He tried offering some food to the people around him, but they tended to vary from politely declining to straight up shoving his offering into his mouth. Someone had laid a blanket over his shawl, and for the first time all night, Obi-Wan wasn’t entirely frozen to the bone. The baby was quiet, but Obi-Wan glanced back towards it occasionally. Sometimes he felt like it was watching him too, from their perch in the Mando’s arms.

_ Kyr’tsad _ had started asking questions again, asking who his guardian was, how he had wandered off, how old he was. Tiny things and larger things combined. Obi-Wan only omitted names and the force from his answers.

Qui-Gon was still in the neighboring city, had left him to fend for himself so he could pick up information. The omitted information simply referred to him as  _ Cabur _ , and more like he had left him in the hotel room to find a job. Many of the Mando’s around him frowned, pushed for more details.

At some point, he had nodded off, and had woken up in one of the tents. The only person inside was the woman with the currently nameless baby. She frowned at something, and sat him down with a bowl of stew and some very minimal bread. She tidied up the tent best as she could, and Obi-Wan watched her with sleepy eyes.

Suddenly, she spoke. “I don’t know how you're going to get out of this camp without a new last name  _ ge’tal _ ,” She spoke bluntly. Obi-Wan froze, and looked at her confused, she, in response, sighed and continued. “You had the  _ kotir _ to walk into a camp managed by  _ kyr’tsad _ in the middle of the night when our instincts are high strung, to save an  _ ik’aad _ .” They looked very pointedly at the baby.

They finished off, handed him his satchel and a comm. “You’d make a very brave  _ adiika _ , very honorable, so get out of here and gut-punch whoever your  _ cabur _ is before one of these men try to steal you away for good.” The visor of her helmet locked with his eyes. “ _ Jate’kara ge’tal _ . Don’t ever do this again.” She was solemn when she finished her sentence.

Obi-Wan looked towards the child, to her, and then he ran.


	9. Yaim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> :D

The anxiety didn’t hit Obi-Wan again until after the pure euphoria rush wore off. He was on the Neimodia, in the engine room, doing whatever brand new Mando'ade did, when it suddenly hit him again, the feeling of doubt.

He had so many fears before the actual adoption, and he had somehow ignored them until now. He could see that some of them clearly were not valid fears to have, but the paranoid part of his brain begged to differ. Presenting scenario after scenario for this perfect experience to go wrong.

Obi-Wan desperately wished that he could just ignore it. That if he left it alone for long enough it wouldn’t evolve like it usually did and just go away. He had little hope for it to pass until he actually faced the future. He occupied his mind with other thoughts.

Herrah had picked him up, it was embarrassing for a person of his age, but it had felt nice, hugs were nice too. Herrah was really tall though, so hugging her was somewhat weird and made him feel five years younger than he was.

Obi-Wan had taken a break from his datapad, and leaned against the railing bisecting part of the room. He had a proper place to sleep, but he had set up a pallet in the engine room a long time ago. Herrah had taken one look at it, raised a brow, grinned and walked away. He figured that was a sign that the pallet was fine.

He sighed and flopped his head back on an improvised pillow. They arrived at _Manda’yaim_ in two days. He hoped that by then, he was mentally prepared for it.

-

He had kept himself awake too many hours by the time they landed. Next to his _buir_ , who was frantically comm’ing someone, he looked slightly dead. They had landed in a fairly large compound, big enough to have been terraformed to stand out from Mandalore’s ever present deserts.

They had arrived early morning, early enough that the sky was still dark when the Neimodia Fury had quietly set down. Someone yelped on the other side of Herrah’s comm, loud enough that he could hear it from his position, sitting on the edge of the landing pad. Herrah was helmeted, so he couldn’t really see her reaction, but her body language implied a particularly bad wince.

After she hung up, she swiftly made her way over to where he was sitting, and dropped right next to him, then proceeded to groan. Her helmet was tilted towards him.

“Ob’ika, I think my brother is going to kill me. M’sorry that I cut this adoption so short.” She sounded comically depressed, and Obi-Wan couldn’t help but stifle a laugh. In response, Herrah leaned on him and put one hand on his freshly cut hair.

“You're a traitor Ob’ika, I’m never going to forgive you. When Hakim kills me I’m going to haunt you until the _Ka’ra_ demand I stop.” She ruffled his hair and then quickly picked him with her other arm, adding the other when she decided to leave his hair alone. Obi-Wan wheezed, and tried to reorient himself in her grip.

Herrah purposely fell back onto the landing pad, Obi-Wan tried to wiggle out of the grip. “Horrible _ad_ , what am I supposed to do now? Who’s on my side?” She jokingly complained.

An unfamiliar gauntlet gripped Herrah’s leg, and then proceeded to drag her off the landing platform, Obi-Wan had managed to escape when Herrah had opened her arms in surprise, and also in an attempt to reorient herself.

A Mandalorian, of similar size, looked down at his _buir,_ who didn’t react with hostility, so he assumed it was okay. She deadpanned at the Mandalorian under her helmet. 

“Hakim. Nice of you to show up. Assumed you would send the loth wolves after me first.” The figure, who Obi-Wan had just realized was his _ba’vodu_ , crouched down to get on his sister's level.

“ _Gar ganar a evaar'la ad. Ni'm gar vod_ .” He stood up again, as Herrah perched herself up, and held his hands together in front of his face. “I’m a _ba’vodu_ and you didn’t even tell me Herrah!” He complained. While he was distracted, Obi-Wan stifled a laugh as Herrah lunged for his torso.

Hakim was given similar treatment to what he dealt, and was sprawled on the gravel. Herrah pointed at him, and said one word before she proceeded to run. “ _Skira_.”

Hakim had gotten up and ran after his sister. Obi-Wan was still half perched on the landing pad, and just realized how awkward he must look. He quickly brushed himself off and tried to see what was going on with his _buir_ and _ba’vodu_.

A tap rang out behind him, and Obi-Wan quickly turned to look at the source of the noise. A much smaller helmet looked at him, maybe an inch or so taller than he was. They offered up their forearm, and Obi-Wan quickly took it.

There were three more figures, none of them as heavily armoured, one of them a Twi’lek barely out of toddlerhood, holding onto one of the others hands. The kid with the helmet released his forearm, and looked at the commotion down the street.

“ _Buir_ is gonna get his _shebs_ kicked again.” They sighed. Then angled their helmet back at him. “I’m sorry for my dad, I’m Kisa.” Obi-Wan mustered up what he thought was a polite expression. “Obi-Wan, does this happen often?” He asked, curious.

Kisa looked pained, and that was an answer in and out of itself.

The figures behind them walked up to him, and introduced themselves. The long haired blonde holding the little Twi’lek’s hand went first. “I’m Nilin, and this is Venat.” He smiled. “I’m Tam.” The other one sighed, they didn’t really seem to want to say anything after that.

Venat looked up at him curiously, and Obi-Wan couldn’t help but smile. Kids were cute, severe anxiety had nothing on cute kids. Kisa sighed, and splayed themself over the landing pad.

Hakim was very quickly approaching in the distance, cursing something under whatever breath he had left. Herrah, following him, gained a sudden burst and knocked him over. Before Hakim could get up again, she tossed him over her shoulders like one of the mammals Ewoks used for their hunting bait.

He could almost feel the grin that was surely bisecting her face in the force. He bathed in the sensation for a few seconds while she approached at a light jog.

Hakim was upset, very much so, but didn’t make any move to leave the grip, instead propping an elbow on his sister’s shoulder and surely scowling. 

The corners of Nilin’s lips twitched, and Tam just raised a brow. Venat was very clearly more interested in the fact that his aunt was on planet then his dad. The little Twi’lek carefully ran forward and gripped her legs.

Hakim gripped so that Herrah couldn’t throw him off, and she picked up Venat with more care than she had her brother, perching him on her hip. Obi-Wan thought it made a particularly weird picture.

Kisa patted him on the back, and her voice was dry. “Welcome to the family Ob’ika, you’ve got like twenty cousins to meet yet.”


	10. Evaar'la

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Satine mostly gets over prejudice, and tries to seduce Ob'ika to the dark side! They have keke!

Mandalore had been Satine’s home forever. That had never, ever changed. The deserts, the terraforming, the street culture, all of it was part of her home. Pieces she loved, and pieces she needed to accept.

Traditional Mandalorians were a fighting breed, a culture of their own. And she, for the longest time, couldn’t see the advantages of that. Couldn’t see why they didn’t just absorb themselves into the rest of Mandalore. She saw little economic benefit until it was shoved into her face.

She regretted that. She regretted a lot of things, and she was at the tipping point of being able to fix her mistakes and going down a path that would allow no other alternatives. She was young, she was impressionable, and for some reason, part of her brain had begun to shut out the very culture she had loved for the longest time when she started to see excessive violence instead of what it actually was.

She may have been of higher status, might have been part of a family that wanted to change Mandalore for the better. Even if they had failed in the end. But her first language was still Mando’a, and her first culture was still filled with bright dyes and bright foods.

She had that, and clung to that in the end. She had a language, she had a culture, she had a reason to go back, to change her thoughts. She wasn’t going to suffocate her planet, and she was never intending to, but some things had needed to associate in her mind.

Satine was a child of _Manda’yaim_ , and that was good enough.

-

Satine had trudged up to him at dawn, maybe an hour or two before the sun would fully rise. Wearing a set of kute that he could have sworn she had shoved somewhere and forgotten about. The expression of her face was solemn, and slightly fierce, but she was still actually expressing emotion, instead of staring blankly ahead like she had done for a few days now.

Obi-Wan picked up their packs, offered Satine hers, and they hiked across the desert before the sun could catch them.

-

Satine slid down a dune, let out a little laugh, and watched a smile spread on Obi-Wan’s face before he did it himself, clearly his Jedi instincts had never sand surfed before, and he fell over. She wheezed, a deep thing in her chest, and Obi-Wan scrambled up to chase her north. Sputtering all the way.

-

Obi-Wan was concerned about her plan, and he had every right, but she thought it was a decent enough idea. She needed to change, needed to address the other side of Mandalore, the warriors that made up so much of their culture. She had done nothing for them, and everything against them. There was a very good reason why Death Watch was against the New Mandalorian regime.

She mussed up her hair, tied it back in a ponytail easily mistaken for helmet hair, and quirked a brow at Obi-Wan. She worked and talked at once. “Ob’ika, if you want to pass in Northern _Manda’yaim_ , your going to need to wear something other than robes.” She scoffed at his expression jokingly when she saw the affronted look reflected off the mirror.

He grudgingly complied, and Satine brushed off her _kute_ and grabbed a half cloak to toss over it. She looked at Obi-Wan uo and down, analyzing what he chose to wear and very carefully mussed up his own hair. The braid could be mixed in with a few others, but they didn’t exactly have a bunch of tiny supplies to do so. She tucked it underneath his collar for now.

He stood stock still throughout the process. Mildly uncomfortable but not showing it. Ob’ika was on the wrong planet to not have his body language hyper-analyzed. He’d probably die if he knew just how much he gave off.

She gave him a reassuring grin, and they marched off.

-

It was not the disguise that failed them, or their behavior. They very carefully kept up a low chatter in Mando’a, and in town, people barely gave them second looks.

As soon as the two had left, however, they were given _looks_ by every Mandalorian that saw them. Satine knew why, and grimaced.

“Shame Master Qui-Gon isn’t here, an adult would clear this situation up in a heartbeat.” She offered. Obi-Wan flinched, and Satine frowned. “Not that I don’t want your company Ob’ika, two teenagers in nothing but kute and cloaks? Outside of the walls, it makes it look like we’re going to get robbed or simply starve to death.”

She kicked a pebble. “Mandalorians get really weird about kids, y’know? We might know that we can take care of ourselves, but all they see until we’re recognized as basically fifteen? We might as well be toddlers.” Satine jokingly complained, hoping to lighten the mood.

Obi’s shoulders we’re unrolling, and she took that as a good sign. So she continued to ramble. “Your _buir_ basically rules your life until you're old enough to work. “ She groaned. “Can’t have this, can’t have that! _Ka’ra_ forbid I want some good tingilaar!” She whined.

Obi-wan had resorted to normal at this point. “I have no idea how you people eat that stuff, it burns, I’d need like an entire Bantha if I wanted to eat a bowl of that stuff.” He chuffed. Satine gasped dramatically, walking and emoting at once. “Sacrilege! It’s the best burn, a good burn. It proves you're alive!” She cheered, poking Ob’ika in the shoulder.

A small group of _Mando’ade_ gave them fond looks from the other side of the road. God she missed the horribly nice strangers of the North. She quickly beamed and gave a small wave. Ob’ika scrunched in on himself.

Satine walked for a while, before she brought up the next point, frowning. “We really might need Qui-Gon for this to be solid. Children without guardians don’t last long.” She brought up awkwardly. Obi-Wan gave her a slightly frightened look, and she quickly corrected the common misconception. “Oh I don’t mean they die! I just mean that usually, you’d get absorbed into another clan, and using my clan symbol would only bring us trouble to be fair. Hurting kids is a serious crime out here!” She reassured him.

Ob’ika gave her a _look_. She figured that she deserved it.

-

The next gate wasn’t keen on letting two _Cabur’less_ kids go on. The Mando on duty gave them a frown, not intended at them, Satine noticed. She and Ob’ika we’re sitting in the office off of the gate, waiting for an open comm so that they could trick Qui-Gon into giving them clearance. It didn’t really feel like it would happen in the next decade.

Ob’ika looked at her. “He’s never going to show up Sat’ika.” He sounded miserable. “He never does.” Satine quickly placed a hand on his back. “What good is he then? Doesn’t protect the target, doesn’t accompany his kid, he just sounds worse every time you bring him up!” She complained.

Obi-Wan flinced, again, and instead of settling down, Satine just glared at the wall. “He's a no good _Cabur_ Ob’ika. You’d be better off getting adopted by someone on _Manda’yaim_ .” She protested. She looked at him again. “That way, you’d be able to stay here too, and we could basically be _vod_!”

Obi-Wan didn’t bother to respond, and simply leaned on her shoulder. She huffed, but leaned back, letting him nap. If Ob’ika’s _Cabur_ didn’t show up, they’d be here for a long time.

-

It had taken the kids spending the night in the office, and some very firm arguments before Satine and Obi-Wan could finally proceed. They both had aches in their necks, a glare in their eyes, but a familiarity with near dawn. They dragged each other along.

“What’s the point if he barely teaches you anything? The only thing I’ve seen him do is get you in danger.” She complained, letting a small frown take her default expression. Obi-Wan still refused to talk about it, but hadn't protested anything she said other than with pointed looks.

“Could you get a new teacher maybe? Or maybe you’d just find some family to take you in here.” She pushed. Questioning. Obi-Wan finally sputtered at that.

“We can’t just get new teachers!” He yelped. Satine frowned. “Well that’s dumb. What if your teacher is Qui-Gon Jinn? That’s a perfectly good reason to switch out.” She said it semi seriously, semi teasingly. Ob’ika really must hurt his eyes with how much he glares.

“All I’m saying, you could find a new _Cabur_ , or you know,” She smirked, “Find a nice house to take you in on _Manda’yaim_ , be my _vod_! We could go shopping and maybe you’d find something you’d like!” She teased.

Obi-Wan looked at her affronted. “Mandalore is perfectly fine, I just don’t get the appeal in burning my tastebuds off.” He complained. Satine gripped his shoulder. “That wasn’t a no! That’s the spirit! Soon enough you’ll shed your Courusanti taste buds and become a proper Mandalorian!” She declared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This definitely counts. Open ending, lots of fun verbal bashing.
> 
> Look it was radical pacifist Satine or radical Mando'ade Satine, I had no choice.


	11. Sol'yc

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Babies first armor!! Armorer is kinda like the one from The Mandalorian, expect she's got soft gushy insides and doesn't lead a clan. She's significantly less badass, but still gives off the Vibes.

Obi-Wan, Herrah had explained, way far more than ready for his first set of armor. She was proud of him, beaming when she said it.

It made a warm feeling bloom in his chest, and he gave her a stuttering smile in return, overwhelmed by her pride in him. He wasn’t arrogant enough to say it aloud that he thought so too, but he did give a tiny nod.

Herrah rubbed his back, told him she’d find one of her brother’s old _kute_ and that when she did, they we’re going to go pay a visit to the armorer. He was mildly surprised, thinking it’d be somewhat less specialized, but sat down to wait in the _karyai_ anyways.

When she came back, holding two bundles of folded cloth, he wasn’t surprised at the action itself but the designs on some of them. Herrah wore a plain black or grey _kute_ usually, so he hadn’t seen something with any symbols or markings on them before.

These _kute_ , when unfolded we’re indeed around his size, and had a beige basetone, both shoulders were taken up. By what he believed to be the mythosaur skull on one. He hadn’t seen the other one most anywhere except on the sides of specific buildings. He figured it was some sort of clan symbol.

His _buir_ eyed him up, raised the _kute_ up, and then eyed him again. “You have no idea how glad I am that I picked these up instead of a set of my own, you probably would have been frantically adjusting the shoulders every minute.” 

He winced, but he had seen holo’s of the twins when they we’re young. She was probably right. He’d like to believe that he’d be more subtle than that, but he wasn’t even aware biological females could be that big in the middle of puberty. He would’ve.

She handed them off for him to touch and prod as he would, and he decided, in the end, to pick out the _kute_ with the darker accents. It was similar to what he would’ve worn if he was still in the Order. Sentimental of him, probably.

Herrah either didn’t notice or didn’t care, and helped him put it on properly.

After she was done, she stepped back, put a hand up to her face, and sniffled. Just a little, enough to claim plausible deniability. Obi-Wan very intelligently didn’t comment on it.

She picked her helmet off of the table next to the couch, but didn’t put it on just yet. She offered Obi-Wan a belt, thick bantha leather just like everyone in this clan seemed to prefer. He took it gratefully, and only then did they leave.

-

The armourer raised a brow under her helmet at the unfamiliar child, but soon recognized the _kute_ and the figure politely stepping in afterwards. The clan _beroya_.

Had Hakim adopted again? Was Herrah here to drop off more credits and get him outfitted? Common questions for her to ask. She ceased cleaning her equipment, stood up and went to go inspect the _adiika_.

He was surprised, and had a wary look on his face, but consented to the poking and prodding. Too thin, she clicked her tongue. No wonder he was in Hakim’s old _kute_. Both of them we’re far too small for their ages.

“So, are you one of Hakim’s?” She asked, both amused and fussing. The kid made a surprised face, and Herrah put her helmet into her hands, her vocoder fritzing her sigh. “No, he’s mine.” she admitted.

She was shocked, but didn’t stop her prodding. She took out a measuring tape from a pouch and started to actually get his dimensions. The kid was trying to be as still as possible, clearly but kept making tiny movements. 

She paused, straightened his shoulders, and continued her work. This was an important event for a new _mando’ade_ and she was going to do her best on this.

Herrah watched her work out of her eye, like her father before her when she had gotten her armor fitted, and it was with a shriek-hawk’s stare that she watched. She was still an apprentice when Herrah had gotten her first set of _beroya_ armour and she despaired that she hadn’t gotten to work on that.

Sure, she might have done her current set, but a good deal hadn’t needed to be replaced so she had been given minimal work, and little chance to take _her_ measurements.

When she was an apprentice, she had the stupidest fat crush on the Viern twins, but once she realized she wasn’t really into Hakim, and he wasn’t really into females in general, she had focused on Herrah, isolated, buff, drool worthy Herrah.

And then _Herrah_ ended up being into nothing but a bounty done well and her little heart had broken. Damn _ka’ra,_ taking all the good ones for themselves.

Eyeing up the kid, she grimaced. Herrah scared off anyone interested in _her,_ but she was going to have to fight this kid’s suitors off with a _bes’kad_.

The woman in question made a very audible tap with her foot on the floor, and she took that as a sign to hurry it up. She had noticed her blanking. Typical.

She took the record measurements, eyed up the kid, and spoke. “Should be done in about two weeks, maybe shorter.” Herrah shrugged and stepped up to rest a hand on the kids shoulder.

“How much?” The _beroya_ asked, the armorer grimaced. Hakim was going to get his _shebs_ beat again.

“Hakim told me to tell you that he took care of it.” As predicted, Herrah cursed, and after removing her hand charged out of the door. Pissed off after not paying for once. Some people would consider someone else paying a good thing, Herrah mostly took it as a challenge.

The poor kid looked somewhat surprised. The armourer pitied him. This was going to happen about every week. She patted him on the head, like a strill.

  
“Hey kid, call me _ba’vodu_ , what’s your name?”


	12. Tra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, he had to do it guys.
> 
> It's okay,, it'll all get better.

Plo Koon, if you had ever asked anyone, was never, under any circumstance, furious. Few had even managed to make him upset. Those alone we’re rare cases.

He dealt with children, it was a necessary skill of the trade. 

Qui-Gon Jinn defied expectations, had a severely strong connection to the living force and needed to learn when following senate mandated orders was best. That’s what Plo would have said in public, anyways.

In his rooms, with a nice cup of tea and probably a mind-healer, Plo would have rattled off several reasons why the man shouldn’t be allowed to raise a second padawan after Feemor, let alone after  _ Xanatos _ .

He clung  _ too  _ much to the living force, and as result ignored the unifying far too much, missing things no other decent  _ knight  _ would have. It irked on him as a result, feeling too much empathy. Alongside that, he was far too stubborn, and very clearly did not appreciate the  **absolute gift he was given.**

Qui-Gon, he thought, had many failings truly, but his ability to ignore the chance he had to prove himself to the council again was one of the last straws he would allow. Padawan Kenobi was his chance to prove himself loyal to the light, prove that he was still a good master. The council had very clearly given him too many second chances.

The council duties themselves and a selection of missions had made Plo unavailable during most of the critical points of Obi-Wan Kenobi’s life, good times to pick him up as a padawan that he had  _ missed _ . That stung, even if he knew Master Yoda had  _ some  _ sort of plan for him. Plo had desperately convinced himself of that, so that he wouldn’t storm to Yoda and ask why he was holding back the small horde of knights and masters that would have taken him on.

Any other Jedi in the temple would have been better for him, truly. Plo Koon did not scowl, only stare at things very disappointedly. And staring he was.

He had given Qui-Gon a chance in his mind, a little kernel of hope reserved just for him.

-

After Bandomeer, Qui-Gon had no hope in his eyes, that little kernel had gone dull. He had been so stubborn about ignoring his grandmaster’s plans that a force sensitive  _ teenager  _ was enslaved. He was so, so lucky that he hadn’t been sold into a different trade or else Plo would have done something he would have regretted.

Obi-Wan had soft copper hair and blue eyes, and was fit from the trade. Copper was a rarity, if he had remained enslaved for perhaps even a day longer, horrible things, more horrible than it was already, would have occurred to him.

Plo killed slavers who did that. Everyone knew that. In all forms, all missions except those, he was a wonderful example of a Jedi. Whenever Plo found children, beaten or enslaved or  _ raped _ , Plo killed the people responsible, regretless, emotionless. He held no delusions of redemption for people like those.

Qui-Gon Jinn had inadvertently caused a child to be enslaved, and starved, and inches away from something worse. That almost, in his eyes, made him as bad as those people he killed.

Then Melida/Daan had occurred. Plo was never furious. Never burned with rage. His was an icy, chilling thing. 

Qui-Gon had made the choices here, had put Obi-Wan on the line himself. He could be held responsible. Leaving a child in a warzone,  _ Order or not,  _ was a grievous sin. If he could, he would have bared his teeth at Qui-Gon Jinn, and if he had the power, he would have demanded his lightsaber.

Obi-Wan came back, speaking little, curling into himself. Plo wished it would have been appropriate for him to march up to him and straighten his back, tell him what had occurred  _ was not his fault.  _ He needed the validation. Qui-Gon was more uncomfortable when he rejoined the order, than with the decision he had made. Horrifying, truly.

He had not insisted Obi-Wan visit a very clearly needed mind healer, he had not comforted him in his first days back, he had never sat down with him and asked him about his experiences. Only told him to meditate more, focus on his connection to the force. 

Plo was held back time and time again from decking the man.

It was the final straw, the final sin he could commit in his eyes. The next day, Plo offered to assist Qui-Gon on his next mission, a mid-length thing near the Outer Rim. He still hadn’t gotten used to taking Obi-Wan on missions again. That was fine, preferred even, for this specific scenario.

Obi-Wan didn’t need to see what would happen next. He was still recovering.

-

Qui-Gon knew that Master Koon would surely be beneficial help, much more experienced than his usual company. He was a council member, very amicable and didn’t seem to ever need much assistance, he was sure the mission was going to go fine, better than usual even.

He grinned softly, pleased with himself. They had originally scheduled two weeks on the planet, he was sure that he would cut it down with Master Koon’s assistance.

The man in question was raiding the cabinets, looking for something. A little eccentric like, but still professional. Quieter than his padawan at least.

At third-meal, they spoke about the mission parameters, negotiated and set up a plan.

-

Qui-Gon was incredibly pleased with himself. Two weeks of expected work had cut down to a mere eight days with two masters of the Order on the case. Enough time for him to go home and take a few days break.

It wasn’t until the middle of the night until something went wrong. Their ship was small, but big enough to have a decent airlock and plenty of storage. The alarm screeching right now was clearly not a good sign whatsoever in the middle of  _ space.  _ He hurried to adjust his robes properly, and then promptly ran into Master Koon, who appeared to have been going to get him.

“What’s the fuss?” He shouted, over the sound of the alarms blaring. Master Koon sent him a modified grimace and replied. “The airlock has apparently been damaged, I very much don’t know how. I was coming to get you, I’ve heard of your mechanical knowledge.”

Qui-Gon hurried to the door, shed his robe and asked for a toolbox, he needed to address the problem quickly.

Instead, a clawed hand gripped his shoulder.

-

Plo Koon has restrained himself the entire trip. Waiting, stalking.

Qui-Gon was arrogant, and narcissistic and truly, could not rely on the unifying force to warn him whatsoever. Plo had contemplated simply slitting his throat at least thrice now. It was pure dumb luck that Qui-Gon had survived so far.

Triggering the alarm on the airlock was simple enough, and almost easier to fix. He would do that once this was over however, it wouldn’t do for any mics to pick up whatever he wanted to say.

He gently steered Qui-Gon towards him, ever the Finder. He was not brash, and would not make this worse than it needed to be. He just needed to be gone, and that was simple enough.

He lightly rested his claws on Qui-Gon’s throat, watching as his expression slowly twisted into fear. Plo was standing tall, looking down on him. 

“I gave you so many chances.” It was soft, gentle as every other interaction. “You simply let me down.” He reimpanded, as if talking to a child and not a dead man. 

His eyes crinkled, Qui-Gon struggled, and with his other hand, Plo opened the airlock.

“I wish I didn’t need to do this Jinn, you should have known what I did to horrible people.”

By the time the airlock was closed again, Plo, despite his species resistance to space, was cold, and couldn’t even muster up the will to be remorseful. It was a job done. No one needed to know.

-

Plo Koon had returned to the order solemnly, not even Qui-Gon’s lightsaber to be returned. (The kyber would have screamed.) He went to the council, and detailed the entire procedure. 

A horrible liner crew, seeking revenge for a mind trick used on the wrong person. They had somehow known it was Qui-Gon, and as Plo slept on, they had managed to get him into space somehow. He had woken up and couldn’t feel the screaming in the force until it was too late. (On the contrary, the force had been remarkably silent as Qui-Gon had perished. An unconventional, but appreciated bonus.)

He had made them land him on Coruscant, furious (The council knew that he was never, ever furious.) and had marched to tell them of the loss immediately. 

Plo himself had worn black mourning robes for a week, claiming to feel a responsibility for his unfortunate loss. He meditated during the time, clearing out and looking over his feelings with a finer touch.

Obi-Wan, he knew, had not said a word. But you could find him surrounded by his fellow padawans, seemingly immersed in his own grief. (Obi-Wan couldn’t even muster enough sympathy for his master to cry, spent most of his nights looking up at the ceiling and furrowing his brows.)

Two weeks later, an appropriate amount of time to wait for a new master, Plo Koon offered himself up to the council for evaluation, and claimed responsibility for not noticing Qui-Gon’s screams in the force (He was blessedly silent for once.), offered to finish Padawan Kenobi’s apprenticeship, if he would have him.

It figured, somewhere under the emotions and trauma and grief for himself, he would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FIGHT ME IF YOU DON'T LIKE MY PLO


	13. Norac

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I swear to god, If I ever suffer through a chapter like this again, I'll cry. I hope your happy bastards.

The 212th attack battalion was performing an initial scouting before the entire flagship landed on the planet. They didn’t have much information on it besides it’s code and that it could support human life yet, and as such needed more information instead of hastily settling down for a quick breather and resupply.

The scouting group was made up of maybe seven or so clones. Not many, and they definitely should have a precise number, but they thought they could get this over and done with so the sign out’s may have been slightly sloppily done. In their defense, it was early and if they didn’t do it soon enough, the other clones would just get stir crazy and then  _ nothing  _ would get done in the end.

A group of three was heading north, and one had split off after what basically qualified as an all-clear and a shrug. This singular scout was headed northeast, and spent about thirty minutes stumbling around in the thick vegetation. It was a wonder they hadn’t found barely any life so far.

Survey was going to take the reasonable assumption that everything here was skittish, and not the more terrifying assumption that there was probably some apex predator scaring them off into their bolt holes. He was armed, yeah, but this place  _ looked  _ like it could support an ecosystem full of giant, toxin carrying creatures. He winced at his own thought.

His boots barely made a single noise on the soft layer of lichen and mosses, and he progressed, compass in one hand, viroblade in the other.

-

Survey truly wasn’t expecting to find anything. It was going to be a routine scouting, check out the area, find a landing spot, head back to the flagship.

Not stumble across surprisingly put together ruins on what they assumed to be an abandoned dwarf planet. Survey was just about to head back too. Now he was going to have to  _ investigate  _ and write an additional report.

He rolled his eyes, tucked his viroblade back where it belonged and tucked his compass into his bracers. This wasn’t as uncommon as people really assumed it to be. Survey just apparently had a kriffing talent for stumbling across stuff that required him to write a longer report.

One of these days, he swore, he was just going to forget it ever existed and spare himself the thousand words.

But for now, he had a job to do. So Survey trudged on, stepped over what was probably some sort of entrance once, and descended.

-

The next time he was on base, he was demanding a raise. I mean, he didn’t get a damn wage in  _ the first place _ but it’d be nice. It was for the intention. This bantha crap had gone too far.

He very much did not kriffing sign up to find whole damn humans in old ruins. I mean he  _ didn’t really sign up-  _ force damn it. He got the point. No more karking nat-born references.

The scruffy looking guy was even still alive. Which honestly, could be rectified, but he sure as hell didn’t want to be considered a murderer. He was  _ better  _ than that, and even if he completely and utterly doubted it, this could just be a particularly dumb adventurous citizen. Survey did  _ not  _ kill citizens.

He quickly strided the rest of the way over and checked him over. He knew he was alive, he was breathing after all, but what the hell had happened. He checked his pulse. Normal, slow even. Probably not poisoned then. Well that was a step in the right direction.

He sighed, and commed in base.

-

Survey was stuck sitting there for about an hour, _The_ _Negotiator_ landed, and they had to drag the stretcher over to his location. He had very helpfully set up a location beacon instead of letting his brothers get lost in the woods. It’d be funny, but this wasn’t really the situation for it.

He had been analyzing the guy while he waited, and noticed a few things. One, whatever the hell this guy had in his pockets was delicious, two, he was wearing some robes scarily reminiscent of a Jedi, and three. This guy, alongside being scarily tall, had a giant scar on his stomach. That realistically, he shouldn’t have survived.

Should he know that? No. Should he have eaten whatever was in his pockets? Also no. Did that stop him? Clearly not. Survey was a stubborn bitch, and if he wanted to check a guy out for injuries, he could check a guy out for injuries.

He was, once upon a time, going to be a medic, but then the Kaminoans noticed that he actually had a sense of direction, half a liter of common sense and the ability to use a mapping pencil like a sentient, and here he was.

He didn’t mind, to be fair. He liked his job, he was good at it and when his luck wasn’t beating his  _ shebs  _ he could find some peace in it.

He fingered the other stuff he had shamelessly taken from the guys pockets, and picked them over. He had eaten the colorfully wrapped stuff, after deeming it edible, and was now left with the semi-iridescent wrappers and a bunch of tiny rocks and a credit chit.

He figured he could trade some of this stuff, so he stuck it in one of his pouches, and held onto the wrappers and one particularly shiny rock. He held it up to the light filtering in from the canopy, and watched specks of color shift as sunbeams hit it at different angles. He let out a small sound of awe. This, he decided, was his now.

By the time the medics had arrived, the guy was filtering in and out of bouts of consciousness, and he had put his keepsakes away. Survey grimanced whenever the guy managed to hold his eyes open for a few seconds. 

The medics had attempted to lift him onto the stretcher, but the guy wasn’t having it whenever his muscles paused, and he thrashed in their grip. One of his brothers we’re forced to sedate him, and right before the hypo had kicked in, a random rock had gone flying for one of the medics, but thankfully dropped before it could make impact.

Survey and the two medics exchanged horrified looks. They clearly had a bigger problem than they had originally thought on hand.

-

The man, no he decided, the bastard had to be hypo’ed  _ twice.  _ The second time he had woken up, he had broken two of Dol’s fingers and as soon as Survey had heard his soft scream, muffled inside his helmet, he had taken the second hypo and jabbed it in his neck himself.

The medics had momentarily panicked, but he let them know he had been dropped from the program because he was a good cartographer, not because he didn’t know what he was doing, and they smoothed over after that.

He took over Dol’s place, and very pointedly told him that if he tried to help, he was going to report it to the chief medical officer. They hadn’t accounted for force sensitivity, and every moment they spent carrying the stretcher towards  _ The Negotiator  _ was filled with an anxious, silent panic.

As soon as they came into sight, two brothers ran over and ordered a sit-rep. Survey ignored them until they had actually got to the medical bay, and after shooting a command at one of the medics to splint Dol’s fingers and get him a hypo meant for the General, only then did he look back at them.

He may have been helmeted, but they could understand the body language he was emitting, and took the point.

“What the hell was out there?” One of them hissed. Survey helped one of the medics get the bastard onto a bed, and replied. “Ruins, about two klicks out, found that guy unconscious out there.” He jabbed a finger at the bastard. “He’s force sensitive, tried to club Hex with a kriffing rock, and once the hypo wore off, he crushed Dol’s fingers.” it was short, concise and to the point. If they wanted a full report, they could pull it up when he wrote it.

He took the hypo he requested, and very promptly emptied the plunger into the Doe’s neck. He wasn’t entirely sure why the medic didn’t just do it themselves, but he figured the snappish tone in his voice probably did something.

As soon as Helix heard about this, he was going to get chewed out for sure. Ordering around his bay. The two brothers we’re standing by the door, and one of them was speaking on a comm, hopefully with the Marshal Commander or the General.

The door to the medbay was already open, but Survey heard the footsteps on the tile floor and snapped his head back in time to see General Kenobi walk in, have his pupils dilate at the sight of the force sensitive John Doe, and then promptly have a panic attack.

-

Obi-Wan, all of a sudden, was a teenager again. Trembling in his boots at the sight of his supposedly long dead master. He  _ saw  _ him die. He had committed a sin and gotten  _ revenge  _ for that man and here he was, perfectly fine and hale, if not a bit scruffy.

He was terrified, he would never admit it to his men but he was  _ terrified.  _ Ventress, Grievous, none of them had anything on this man’s disappointed gaze. Where was he? Why did it appear that he didn’t age a day?  _ Why had the force done this?  _

Qui-Gon must have seen his decisions after he died, must have seen him fall apart and break and disobey the codex so many times, must have seen him barely stop himself from slipping. As soon as he woke up, he knew, he was going to get that disappointed gaze. It was going to stare straight through his soul and he was going to  _ shatter. _

He, under the panic, spotted a scout rush towards him, put an arm over his shoulders. The contact from one of his men grounded him somewhat, and with that grounding he retrieved the sense to leave the medbay. He stumbled out, and that arm very firmly remained on his shoulders.

He shuttered, but eased up once he didn’t have to see him any longer. “I’ll be fine, trooper, I’ll calm down in a minute.” He gasped out. He got a light smack on the back for that. “ _ Fine,  _ my ass! You're having a panic attack sir!” They insisted.

Obi-Wan was very carefully lowered to the floor, another clone exited the medbay, and went to sit down next to him. That was nice. The contact was nice.

Survey and Hex sat out there for an hour, being there. Dol, cradling his fingers, had come out at some point and sat leaning up on Hex.

They’d be fine, for now. They had time.

-

The clones got together, most of them had seen, or at least heard about what had happened. Someone had put Qui-Gon on an IV at some point so that the medics could safely leave the medbay and discuss what had occurred with the rest of the crew on  _ The Negotiator _ . 

It was bad, they all knew that. None of them really ever wanted to see their General have a panic attack again. The Marshal Commander had almost been spitting with pure rage, and had wanted to do something incredibly inadvisable as soon as he heard about it.

Survey had been thoroughly interrogated for details, and left out little to nothing beyond his small bout of kleptomania. The rock was his and very clearly not kriffing relevant, neither was anything else. It was just pocket loot, he’d be fine without it.

The rest of the clones stirred on the details, and a few command clones and slicers teamed up to figure out just who their John Doe was. No one wanted to ask Obi-Wan right now, and even the thought of doing so made some of them nervous.

They expected it to be harder, to be fair. Slicers were entirely ready to do something very illegal for the General, but the command clones had called in, disbelief in their voices, and told them that Mace Windu had immediately recognized their John based on the description, and was going to call Plo Koon and deal with it.

They could’ve sworn to god that both of them we’re busy, being the same rank as their General, High General, and would have better things to do  _ like running the rest of the GAR.  _ But no, apparently they and a small squad of their clones each would be arriving as soon as possible.

The rec room they had commanded went silent at that, and you could find clones a plenty just staring at walls, sitting on the few couches or the floor.

They really had no expectations for that to be that simple. Well damn.

-

The other Generals had arrived, as expected with ten clones apiece. They had barely stayed on the bridge long enough for them to ask questions before they had attempted to march to the medbay where the force sensitive was staying.

Some clones stood there stunned, some of them offered a room to the visiting clones like polite people, and a few of them rushed to follow the Generals as soon as they went into motion.

“Why-” One of them almost ran into a corner, “Are you guys rushing so fast? He’s on an IV! He’s not going anywhere!.” They insisted. The two Jedi stared back for a moment, and then resumed. The clone sputtered at the dismissal.

Once they had made it to medbay, only then did they finally slow, after verifying that yes, he really was unconscious. No, he wasn’t going to spring up out of nowhere.

Plo Koon was still eyeing the John Doe up like he  _ was _ going to spring up all of a sudden. It made the atmosphere a little more tense than it really needed to be. Why did they insist on coming here? Why we’re they exhibiting such odd behaviors?

Mace frowned at him and pursed his lips. “I guess he really is alive.” The clones didn’t really know how to respond to that. They didn’t really have background knowledge on him. Why wouldn’t he be alive? Plo let out a sigh at Mace’s statement and responded.

“I guess he is. A shame.” And now the 212th weren’t entirely sure they weren’t going deaf. Did  _ Plo Koon just say that?  _ A few clones may have yelped. The two Jedi finally looked back at them, remembering their company in the bay.

Plo gestured a hand at the John Doe. “This is Obi-Wan’s master, Qui-Gon Jinn. As of recently.. He would have been considered dead since the Trade Federation’s attack on Naboo.” He announced, his usually cheerfully tone completely missing. “Where did you men find him again?” He asked.

A clone stepped forward. “Jinn was found at a rough estimate of two klicks away, sir. Supposively at some sort of ruin lying unconscious by Scout Survey.” Their tone was firm, and Mace put another contemplative expression on his face.

“We will likely need to go visit those at some point, but Qui-Gon, rightfully, should be dead. We don’t have any doubts that if he remained here that it’d have a negative impact on the 212th.” Mace informed the small crowd. A few looked curious, but all of them had at the very least heard of their General’s reaction. Nothing that bad would have come out at the sight of a friendly acquaintance alive again.

Plo tapped the sidebars on the bed, and mused over it. “No, truly, it’d be better if he hadn’t come back at all, but the force had clearly willed it, so we have little choice but to deal with him for now.” His tone was solemn. “It’d be best if we managed to get him out before Obi-Wan needs to deal with him. Their apprenticeship together was not exactly a stable one.” The last line was said with a twitch in the Kel Dor’s face.

The clones still had no idea what this Qui-Gon guy was like, but it clearly wasn’t good. Jedi or not. Krell proved that not all of them we’re the saints they usually had to support them.

“I fear that Master Yoda will want to place them together if Qui-Gon ends up recovering. Or give him a battalion of his own to command, if he has any sympathy for Obi-Wan.” The Kel Dor was very clearly talking to Master Windu, but the clones overheard it anyway.

  
  


One of them, clearly half run on impulse, spoke up. “That guy almost gave Hex a concussion,  _ broke  _ two of Dol’s fingers and forced Survey to knock him out no less than  _ twice.”  _ They inhaled sharply after they realised what they had said aloud.

Plo looked back at them. “And you are trooper?” He asked. “Lisa, sir.” He saluted. Plo twitched a little, but looked more pleasant than he had earlier.

“Well Lisa, that is exactly why we want Qu-Gon out of your way. We don’t want any needless violence, even towards people he would clearly not recognize. And especially not towards you troops.” He said it sharply, but his normal tone was back. A relief.

Mace was still frowning down at Qui-Gon, but the troops mostly took this as a sign to finally leave. It’d be dealt with.

-

Obi-Wan was doing better, back on his feet, thanks to endless support from his troops, who fussed over him far too much, but didn’t insist he went to medbay for once.

He knew why, and it didn’t really make it much better.

Qui-Gon was alive. He was alive and unconscious and he couldn’t do  _ anything.  _ It tugged at him, insistently. And Obi-Wan wished he could just go to sleep and never have to face him again. But he was a grown man now. He couldn’t let his childhood insecurities shove into his life again.

Not here, not when his men depended on him. Looked up to him. They we’re so heartbreakingly young and he didn’t want to break down in front of them, he never wanted to break down in front of them. They didn’t deserve to have to carry his woes.

He wasn’t going to go to the medbay, he truly, truly wished to completely ignore it, but he should at least receive the rest of the report he had missed, and get up to date on the status of everything. He took his days off, it was back to work for him.

Clones gave him concerned looks whenever he passed them, and no one truly wished to disturb him, so his way to the bridge was mostly quiet. Highlighted only by the footsteps and noise of the engine softly humming,  _ vod’e  _ working.

It was nice, and a constant in his life, and he let himself relax at the soft sounds.

Someone else could deal with Qui-Gon Jinn, because Obi-Wan truly had no desire to ever interact with him again. People could spill his darkest secrets and if anything he’d have  _ more  _ reasoning to never speak to them again.

He was tired. And on leave. He honestly couldn’t care as long as Yoda kept his hands out of what he would surely call a ‘reunited lineage.’ Dooku was a sith, Xanantos was a sith, Feemor was in the middle of goddamn nowhere and his own Padawan didn’t grow up around Qui-Gon Jinn. If anything, he’d think him a good man.

And that, would surely be the joke of the bloody century.

-

The 212th knew little to nothing about Qui-Gon Jinn, He gave the General a panic attack, he was supposed to be dead,  _ Plo kriffing Koon  _ had called his existence a shame. Mace just watched, as if he’d do something if he stared long enough.

Nonetheless, it wasn’t a good first impression. Neither was his violence against them.

They wanted to ignore it, and would like to shove down the obvious warning signs. But from the way people talked about it, he sounded like another Pong Krell. And that was never a good thing for a clone.

If Qui-Gon was the next Krell, then that would mean Obi-Wan would take their place. And that was unsettling. Plo paused in the rec room sometimes, dropped pieces of information, and left. At some point, he had simply sat down, and talked with the most tired voice any of them had ever heard from him.

“He wouldn’t be a bad General. Not likely, not as bad as some. But He has hangups and I would rather not trust him with another life. Let alone so many or  _ your  _ lives.” He had sighed, and leaned back. “Obi-Wan’s apprenticeship was basically decided for him. Like you, he was assigned. This is not the traditional method for padawans. If Master Yoda had not interfered, Obi-Wan would likely be a very different person than he is today.”

It was little things, stuff like events, and stuff he missed. But the clones just got more and more stressed about it. Melida-Daan, Bandomeer What type of training did Obi-Wan have for his life to have been so eventful? So cruel?

Obi-Wan was their General, and they wouldn’t want him any other way, but he deserved nicer things, a different fate. Shinies clung to him, he guided so many of them through their own problems, why couldn’t they do that for him?

-

Qui-Gon Jinn was only let off of the IV with two Jedi in the room, a locked door, and a nervous guard on the other side. Half of the battalion was vibrating with nervous energy, and most of them truly wanted him off  _ The Negotiator  _ as fast as possible.

The two council members exchanged looks, and left the medbay with Qui-Gon, they headed to their transports with the clones they came with. Plo briefly looked back at them, and Mace gripped Jinn’s arm a little tighter.

They didn’t know why the force had done this, and they truly did not want to know.

News of Qui-Gon Jinn’s rebirth never reached Yoda, and the clones, ever so silently, cheered. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you liked, yes I left it ambiguous on purpose, no you don't want to know what they we're plotting.
> 
> This took actually fucking forever to write and I'm starving.


	14. Ge'sol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one did not want to come out, and when it did, the t o n e didn't want to line up with my inital planning. Hope you enjoy anyways.

Obi-Wan and Herrah were in a hyperlane, waiting for the distance to pass, lazily lounging wherever they would fit. He was watching his  _ buir.  _ Not at work on her datapad like usual for once.

Herrah was in a black sports bra and soft grey sweatpants he wasn’t even aware she owned, laying out on a cot, mumbling something at him in sleepy Mando’a. He knew that she could speak perfectly good Basic, despite her thick accent, could have mumbled at him in anything from Wookie to Bocce, and she knew it.

He hated his weird fascination with the tilts and rolls of the language off a native speaker's tongue, it seemed incredibly inappropriate to him. His  _ buir  _ hadn’t spoken anything else for nearly a decade after she was able to sound out the syllables, he had heard that from one of his new relatives, he could have a simple curiosity with it, but his obsession with hearing it with her particular accent felt like a luxury.

Obi-Wan had a grasp on many languages, and some days it was irritation, and others curiosity that crossed his mind whenever whatever pack instinct Herrah had kept trying to fool her into thinking he knew the language of her homeworld. This resulted in awkward requests for translation, half-exhausted rants he didn’t understand a word of, and picking up a large amount of words he really shouldn’t know.

Despite his exposure to it, Obi-Wan only picked up so much through osmosis. As a result, Obi-Wan had created a schedule where he’d ask Herrah or Hakim, on the comm, about Mando’a and it’s slightly confusing phonetics whenever either of them had the time.

Herrah tried to spend most of their first year or so together, but eventually clients got snappish, asked where the hell she had gone to, and so she had mornings where she’d apologize, give him a keldabe kiss and then drop him off with the rest of the clan.

She promises him better days, things to do, and swears that once her paranoia slows down, once he reaches the normal age of Mandalore to begin missions, that the Neimodia Fury will always be open to him and he could come and go as he pleases with her.

He spent those days lying out in the heat, learning how to cook Mandalorian dishes, or simply training with his relatives. Everyone from his cousins to his grandmother. They know why Herrah is never able to be there, why she looks at them with hurt in her eyes, and they still love her for it. He still loves her for it.

The hearth is warm, a cousin corrects his hands while he tries to fold dough, and he thinks that that reality is one he could endure forever. He misses the Order sometimes, misses Quinlan and Bant and Luminara, but this is home, and he thinks that will never change.

Herrah props her head up with her arm, resting her elbow on the cot’s surface, and starts to trill at him in a language he truly cannot recognize. Obi-Wan sighs and decides to go to the cockpit.

It was a sleepy afternoon, according to Obi-Wan’s chrono, when a soft ping rang out on the Neimodia. The ship was still in a hyperlane, and not scheduled to exit for hours. He wasn’t even aware that ships could receive signals in hyperspace. Actually, he was entirely sure that shouldn’t have been possible.

He frowned, looked for the device it had come from, and glanced back at his  _ buir’s  _ datapad, resting on a shelf under the controls. That was probably it. He got down, shuffled forward on his knees and received the personalized device. Or as personalized as a datapad could get.

He picked it up and swiped at the screen. It had a passcode, but the notification reminder was still on the main screen. The little one at the top right corner confirmed his suspicion. He resolved to take the device to his  _ buir  _ and maybe ask how the signal got through at all.

When he ducked into the main section of the Neimodia, Herrah was sitting up, yawning a little. She raised a brow at him and he hurriedly passed her datapad to her. He did  _ not  _ watch her put the password in but he did notice the frown that quickly appeared on her face at whatever she saw.

She tapped something, and an audio recording played. Herrah was very much not expecting the volume and froze at the sound of Mace Windu’s voice blaring through the ship. Obi-Wan’s mouth gaped a bit, and Herrah quickly tapped it again, to pause it or close it or  _ something.  _ Obi-Wan stared at his  _ buir,  _ and she winced.

She offered up a helpless sounding explanation, cringing. “The Order wanted to keep in contact after I adopted you. So I could ask force questions, or you know, receive warnings of specific wearabouts?” Obi-Wan paused, and furrowed his brows. He didn’t know who Herrah would need to keep track about in the order except maybe--.

Qui-Gon Jinn. She was talking about his former master. No wonder they hadn’t run into each other, if the Order was keeping her up to speed.

A little, scared, dark little place in his mind tried to convince him that this was a violation of Master Jinn’s privacy, and the Order shouldn’t have stooped as low to give  _ bounty hunters  _ constant updates on a Jedi’s location.

The more logical part of his mind argued that while somewhat unethical, it had kept him and his  _ buir  _ together, that if Herrah wanted Qui-Gon dead, he would have been so  _ a long time ago.  _

The little voice quieted, and this allowed him to start taking in sensory input again, like Herrah speaking at him rapidly, frantically apologizing for something. He couldn’t tell when her accent got thick enough.

He wasn’t exactly as upset as he could be, but he really didn’t want to explain that in words right now, so he simply fell into Herrah, lazily wrapped his arms around her waist and felt her freeze at the contact. He had.. Kind of forgotten how sensitive Mandalorians like his  _ buir  _ could get when it came to skin-contact.

She awkwardly ran a hand through his hair, and had stopped talking at this point. It felt nice, but Herrah was still as tense as a rock, and Obi-Wan hesitantly untangled himself. He could  _ see  _ her ease flow back as soon as the contact ceased.

His lip wobbled, just a bit. “Sorry about that. I forgot.” He apologized. Herrah waved him off with a slightly twitching hand. He was  _ not  _ fine but he wouldn’t be doing that again. Or at least without his  _ buir’s  _ consent to it.

After that awkward interaction, they had split off, heading to sleep for the night.

Obi-Wan could have sworn he heard the holo of Mace speaking at some point, dead at night. He hadn’t caught much, other than a few jumbled phrases. It seemed to end after what felt like eternity, with a brief statement.

“He’s coming for you.”

Bonus:

Obi-Wan was pacing, and chewing his lip, despite his  _ buir  _ very clearly telling him that it was a bad habit, and he should probably attempt to get rid of it sooner rather than later. He glanced back at the woman in question, giggling like a madman and cooing  _ something  _ at him. His  _ buir  _ could scold him about his nervous tics when she wasn’t doused with  _ whatever the hell it was  _ and speaking her sing-song Mando’a.

Obi-Wan grabbed Herrah’s comm, kept on the small kitchen counter that barely fit in the Neimodia, and, based on experience and a brief look, tapped Hakim’s contact with one hand while steadying Herrah with the other. He had no idea what she was saying and it was making a familiar sort of stress build in his chest.

The call went through after a few seconds, and Obi-Wan let loose a sound of relief. He propped it next to his ear and waited for Hakim to speak while he watched Herrah’s eyes attempt to close. Nope, not happening, he had no idea what this stuff was and if it was safe for her to sleep, he pinched her arm.

An unfamiliar accent filtered through the comm. “ _ Meg cuyir bic _ ?” The accent was lighter, smoother and whoever was on the other end of the comm was presumably male and very annoyed.

Obi-Wan recognized the phrase, at least, but that didn’t stop the stress from making tiny tears pull at the corner of his eyes. “Oh force, I’m so sorry, I was trying to call my  _ ba’vodu  _ and I must have accidentally tapped your contact. I’ll hang up and this will never happen again, I swear!” He must have sounded as pathetic as he felt, because they clearly didn’t hang up.

The annoyed tone dropped in an instant when they realised Herrah wasn’t on the comm. “Hey, hold on there  _ adiika,  _ what’s the issue? It’s pretty late for you to be calling anyone on  _ manda’yaim.  _ And while I’m at it, how’d you get this comm?” They reassured him and questioned him in the same breath. 

Obi-Wan figured that someone in his  _ buir’s  _ comm list couldn’t be the absolute worst. (He was wrong about that, to be fair, Herrah had some pretty horrible people on speed dial.) and made the decision to answer as honestly as he could. 

“Herrah is my  _ buir,  _ somewhere along the line on a job, she got dosed with something, airborne or contact probably, and now she’s speaking  _ Mando’a  _ at me like I’m one of her nephews and I can’t  _ understand a word she’s saying.”  _ He despaired. 

The person on the other end paused. “Hand the comm over to Herrah, If she’s coherent enough to take it. If not, hold it up to her. I’ll do my best to translate her atrocious accent.” They, hopefully, joked.

Obi-Wan was slightly offended at the comment on her behalf, but obliged anyway. Herrah paused from petting his hair to take it, and then chirped something when the other voice started to speak up, quietly, from his perspective. Whoever the voice was continued to speak to her until the day cycle had quietly rolled in, eventually, she passed out, Obi-Wan picked up the comm, figuring whatever it was had run its course, and the same voice rang back at him. Politely wishing him a good night, and then finally, finally, hanging up.

-

In the morning, Herrah had apologised for her behaviour, made him breakfast, and then pulled him down onto her cot for a more sincere explanation.

“I need to seal check my suit,  _ ad.  _ Thank you for trying to help me out though, Jango hasn’t actively talked to me in what feels like years.” She nudged him, and gave him a small smile, when her face wasn’t overcome by weariness, having expended most of her energy the night before.

Obi-Wan paused and gripped the edge of the cot absentmindedly. He took the information in again, before he startled. “Jango Fett?!” He yelped, throwing his hands up when he realised just who he had commed last night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look out for T'adyc, coming anywhere from tomorrow to next Wednesday. I've got stuff planned.


	15. Beskar'ad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friendly reminder than canon is my bitch. This is one of the last chapters, I'm sad to say.

There was sand in his joints. Her joints? Their joints? They attempted to answer their own question, hazily reaching out to find their memory files. Clips of code ran off, sliced in half, incomplete. No, not incomplete, torn.

Their core hummed, steady. It was functional at least. They tried to access the code again. Futile. The severing was not precise, or likely even intentional. They ran a ‘finger’ down their housing. They found several small craters in their chassis. That would explain. Some of it?

Would it explain it? They didn’t know. The sand. Yes. Fine grained pieces of rock. They attempted to stand. The sand, and the larger rocks accompanying it, protested this. They were not used to this. Or were they? They made their way into a standing position, ignoring the way their limbs shook and creaked and very delicately picked the larger rocks interfering with their range of motion out.

The rocks fell onto the sand with little more than a slight hiss, the sand shifting to accommodate. They held the last one, buffering as they tried to figure out it’s composition. They thought they could figure some of it out. Orthoclase, quartz.. Something more unique they couldn’t recognize, never mind how long they spent picking it’s composition apart. 

It clicked. This was sandstone. They were most probably in a desert. There was no water in the immediate vicinity. Nor vegetation. Even if the surrounding evidenced that water must have been here at _some_ point.

There were also no tracks in the sand other than their own imprint. This, after some contemplation, seemed entirely illogical. They couldn’t have reasonably gotten here without tracks. There was little wind, and so it would be a reasonable chance that there was little wind the day before.

Did they simply lay there? How long, for the sand to have melded into their joints? They absentmindedly cradled their head, running their ‘fingers’ along the small craters again. How did they get them?

Further investigation revealed dimensions, places that severely needed a touch up, and chipped paint on what qualified as their shoulders. Perhaps painted over areas with a lesser quality paint. Their vocabulator was similar to their joints, coated in the fine grains of sand surrounding them.

They, once more, without reason, tugged at the broken code. Very few lines we’re intact. And others did not fit the standard they had apparently come with. Their memories were few and far between, but they delved into them anyways.

Coming out of the trance, they carefully analyzed what they had learned. They were ‘Kay-Tu’. This is what they were referred to. They struggled to figure out their pronoun programming, but they figured that was something that could be addressed later on. They were only a droid, afterall.

Further study revealed a backup file. Simple things. A calendar, a ‘death wish’ list.. What was a marriage certificate? They carefully set that aside in favor of something far more substantial. Personality programming? That did not sound ideal to sort through at the moment. They set it aside for later. For once they had found a safe place to shut down and browse.

The newly. Or perhaps not newly, dubbed Kay-Tu stared at the sky ahead of them, and walked.

-

Obi-Wan was running. By force did he wish he was doing anything other than running. He cursed as a blaster shot went wide. One of his feet fumbled in the next leap to the side, and he momentarily panicked before twisting it into a roll.

Qui-Gon had messed up. Qui-Gon had messed up irreparably. If he tried to twist this one on him he was going to completely kriff his life up. Screw his master, just this once. He was entirely sure he wasn’t dead yet because the force kept him around for laughs.

He wouldn’t die here, no. He had encountered far worse things than a few people thinking themselves Jedi killers, but the panic and adrenaline was definitely as real as ever.

His face hardened mid-sprint, and once he used the force as a bludgeon again. Inadvisable, an initiate’s move. Something crashed behind him, letting out a small wave of uplifted dust and a _boom._ One of the people in pursuit screamed. He could _feel_ their pace slow, and in response, he used his last inkling of energy to speed up and swiftly fall into a winding crossroads. 

And then promptly, mere seconds later, crash into an incredibly tall droid.

-

Kay-Tu had spent their afternoon wandering. The people of this settlement gave him looks as they passed, weary or greedy alike and they figured that this was not exactly an advisable spot to load their backlogs.

Some eyed their pocketmarks in their chassis, others furrowed their brows, if they had them, at whatever paint was on their shoulders. The recommended course of action was to move onto the next settlement, so that was what they would do.

It was in a winding alley that they had finally been interacted with. Less interacted with and more crashed into. A -blood, that was the color of blood- copper haired adolescent had practically thrown themselves into them, some instinct, likely programming that had been cut and missed, made Kay-Tu throw their limbs around them.

They startled, and they very quickly opened their arms to let them go. Instead of resuming their sprint though, they backed up, and their eyes shot to the paint they _still_ didn’t know the meaning of on their shoulders.

Something about that made the red-haired human loosen their shoulders somewhat, but this came with its own consequences, and only programming and what he assumed humans would call ‘reflexes’ saved them both. In a split second, Kay-Two had taken the blaster from the red-haired’s belt, and had shot a hole into the forehead of a Bothan that had managed to somehow sneak up on them.

They watched their blue eyes widen in horror, a split second of remorse, before it was washed away by grim determination. They figured them yanking the blaster out of their hands was ‘rude’, but Kay-Tu didn’t comment on it.

They watched them clip the blaster back onto their belt, and then shoot their head up to stare them into their photo processors. They shoved a finger onto their chassis. “Did the senate send you?” They demanded it more than questioned. Kay-Tu did not stumble, they were too stable for that, but they did feel the pressure inflicted.

They struggled through a reply. “No. I do not believe I have been sent by your.. ‘Senate.’” They carefully worded it, but it was utterly honest. They had little ability to lie and did not see why they would in this situation.

The red-head frowned, and apparently had noticed their careful wording. Something to take note of. “You don’t believe..-” They paused mid sentence, before hesitantly looking up at them again. “Did you get wiped before this?” This continuation was much more aggressive, and their tone rose.

Kay-Tu did not understand why the adolescent was exhibiting concern, but figured it wouldn’t be harmful to share what they knew. Or, believed they knew.

“I do not believe I recognize where I am. I do not know my ‘name’ or my gender programming. It is highly distressing. I must admit.” Kay-Tu admitted. The red-head had shock on their face, and they quickly grabbed their hand, determined to do _something._

“I’m gonna call my master, a friend, and we’re going to fix you Kix, it’s my duty as a Jedi to keep the peace for the citizens, and you’ve clearly run into an issue.” They proclaimed. They did, however, have enough caution to look back. “I think we should leave first, though.”

-

It was hours later, when the sky was dark, that Kay-Tu had finally asked about the nickname. Obi-Wan, he had introduced himself as Obi-Wan, explained with a shrug. “You're a KX series right? It kinda sounds like Kix when you sound it out.” They reasoned.

Kay-Tu had accepted that, and sat back, perfectly content to let Obi-Wan delicately pry open his chassis and frown at whatever he found. He poked at wires, at things that made Kay-Tu’s hydraulics almost activate instinctively, and they watched Obi-Wan glare.

“Someone bashed in your dataprocessor with the equivalent of a brick, and probably didn’t stop for a while.” He delicately sneered, holding a hydrospanner. He tilted Kay-Tu’s head, and paused at what he saw. He touched it, and Kay-Tu’s sensors couldn’t even feel it.

“I am definitely going to need to call Quinlan. Sorry Kix.” He apologized. Kay-Tu was fine with it, could wait a little longer, and they placed an arm atop of Obi-Wan’s. “It’s fine. I appreciate what you’ve done so far.” They couldn’t smile, but they did their best to express their gratitude.

They sat like that for a few moments, before a man walked in, clad in similar robes to Obi-Wan, and Kay-Tu slowly watched whatever positive emotion was there drain away. His face folded into a picture of no emotion, something more suited to a droid than a human.

The man took one look at Kay-Tu, and his face twisted. He took a look at his ‘padawan’ and the same expression remained. Not even relief to see him well. The closest thing that a droid could feel to emotion, something burning, slowly made itself apparent in Kay-Tu’s coding at this.

It was the personality coding they had been ignoring, not wanting to disrupt Obi-Wan’s repairs. Kay-Tu hesitated, but the next step the man had taken had sent Kay-Tu grasping to upload it, saying nothing more than a quick warning before they shut down.

-

K2SO had woken up in a shoddy little shack, coated in a fine layer of sand and some sort of polsih on what was apparently his thoroughly abused chassis. He flicked his old photoreceptors, sending them flickering before they settled into a solid white light, the sound sent a solid twang echoing for a second.

He brushed off his vocabulator, and his vox rang out, fuzzing slightly. “Please, for the utter sake of both of our sanities, step away from the clearly emotionally abused child. I’m sure General Leia would do a better job raising a force sensitive than you, and she’s atrocious at dealing with children. Will she likely beat my chassis in for saying that? Absolutely. Is it true. Also absolutely.” He sneered mockingly, as best as he could with an unchanging expression.

The red-head looked up at him, as Kay-Tuesso made an attempt to stand up straight. He looked towards him. “I am clearly still broken, and would love your assistance, but I can’t stand to metaphorically watch this go on.” He informed him.

One bound and Kay-Tuesso was close enough to snap his neck, the man snarled. “This is what happens when you bring unfamiliar droids into our hideouts Obi-Wan!” He snapped. Obi-Wan flinched, but didn’t step back or apologize. 

“Please, you're insufferable and I’ve only known you for three minutes. I could raise a child better than you.” K2 huffed. Qui-Gon gaped for a moment, before getting right up to his bludgeoned chassis. “You're a hunk of metal! How would you even manage to raise a human child?” They roared, jabbing very pointedly in his direction.

Kay-Tuesso stared down at him. “I am a legally married hunk of metal for your information.” He huffed. “If I can manage _them_ I can manage taking care of one adolescent more well behaved than my spouses.” He snapped in response.

“All someone would have to do is turn you off!” Qui-Gon huffed, trying to make a point. K2, in response, leaned over him. “Please, do try, that way I wouldn’t feel bad snapping your fingers.” He mocked.

Let it be said that that night did not end well. For Qui-Gon’s fingers at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> K2SO is married here because I wanted him to you cowards. Best character in Rogue One, 10/10. I heard lots of bad stuff but you know what? I fuckin liked it.


	16. T'adyc

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The conclusion to that other chapter, a little weird and needed to be drafted before I posted it.

Obi-Wan did not know what he was to expect for the following days. Herrah made no move to change them, not visibly. She acted like the news didn’t phase her, and maybe it didn’t. Maybe this happened every other week and Obi-Wan was just being paranoid again.

He really, truly hoped it wasn’t his paranoia flaring up again. He had just recently managed to get it to die down again. It wasn’t always a bad thing to have, but that, anxiety and whatever stress he could get his hands on almost always ended badly.

It wasn’t until that settled again that he noticed the little changes, stuff he had initially ignored. Herrah, for one, was _not_ headed for _Mandayaim_ . That was a surprise in and out of itself. For another, he was getting a lot of physical contact. Most of the time, Herrah was in her _kute_ , giving him light touches on his head, a comforting hand on the back of his neck. Little stuff, grounding touches. He needed them, and he was pretty sure Herrah saw that.

He strained his ears at night, but the only noises he caught we’re the Neimodia, and on one occasion, Herrah crashing her knee into a table edge and yelping. That was a tension filled night, Obi-Wan staring up at the ceiling, wary, until he finally succumbed to sleep.

Nothing occurred until Herrah landed the Neimodia down on Tatooine, not far from Mos Entha. It was still a city, but it wasn’t nearly such a destination like Mos Espa. It was also conveniently bordering a nice cliff, and this is where Herrah decided to land the Neimodia Fury. She was truly a beautiful ship, but she was small and her owner had a reputation. Obi-Wan didn’t have a single doubt that no one would be touching her hull for a long time.

Herrah made no move to inform him of her plan, but she did encourage blaster practice once they we’re on the ground, and he met a lot of people in the city itself. She didn’t like leaving him unsupervised, and a few people had joked about it, but eventually, after looking at something on her datapad, she settled and Obi-Wan was allowed to wander.

He was entirely sure it was mostly fear that kept slavers away from him, but the people they bought and sold had no such resignation. As a result, when he left the Neimodia, he oftentimes went and learned something from the natives who were willing to teach. 

Obi-Wan was in the middle of learning how to do a seven strand braid when Herrah had shown up, fully armored, holdout blaster secured on her back. A few of the people around him muttered and started to stand back.

Herrah strode up to him and kneeled, like that first interaction they really had, outside of the cantina on that long forgotten planet. She gripped his forearms with her hands, and the t-visor of her _buy'ce_ stared at him in the face. “I need you to go back to the ship. I’m about to do something I’d rather not Ob’ika.” she was solemn, and Obi-Wan took it seriously.

It was halfway back, Herrah having accompanied him so far, that they ran into Qui-Gon Jinn. Not his master, not anymore. He suddenly knew why Herrah carried her blaster, why she had been seal checking her _kute_ for the last week. It was in preparation for this.

He had attributed it to his paranoia, his love of watching people work, maybe Mace referring to someone else. But, in the end, Jinn was here, and he truly couldn’t do anything about that. He dared not walk forward, but Herrah had no such resignations.

They eyed each other, and Jinn most likely made some sort of scathing comment, but Obi-Wan had been gradually stepping away, trying to find a path around him to get to the Neimodia, get to a blaster, anything other than watch this.

He couldn’t look away though, some part of himself looking at that interaction and insisting that he _look, look, look._ And so, he watched.

Qui-Gon ignited his green lightsaber, and Obi-Wan wished that he was slightly less curious, slightly less insistent on witnessing this. Herrah, in response, moved her arm in such a way that Obi-Wan knew meant that she had flicked her holster open, ready to draw any moment now.

He didn’t know what happened, what had set it off in the end, Herrah had never elaborated, but Jinn had suddenly surged forward in a split second, and he watched his _buir_ steadily try to clear out space. Herrah ducked, rolled, anything to avoid that lightsaber. He knew why. Occasionally, she engaged in whatever hand to hand available, making potshots at his feet to unsettle him.

She whipped her blaster and suddenly Jinn had a new hole in his shoulder, not his dominant hand, unfortunately. He heard his scream, Herrah, in a move that usually would have inspired confidence, tried to close more distance and aim another.

Qui-Gon could still fight, wouldn’t be rendered slow or a still target and he proved this. Herrah lunged, avoided most of his swings. She was nicked occasionally, slight things on her armor. And most of the time, she had avoided this.

Suddenly, ever so suddenly, Jinn changed forms, he could see it from where he was standing, but he didn’t know what Herrah’s view was like, up so close, under her _buyce._ It didn’t seem to change anything for a while, the tempo remained mostly the same.

Herrah’s impatience got the better of her, however, and she tried to take another shot. Jinn, at this point, realised just how good her aim was, and attempted to disarm her before he could have a matching wound to the other one. The style came into play, and Herrah was forced to lower her blaster, Jinn however, he noticed with no small amount of horror, had adapted to this.

He had noticed it earlier, and Jinn had noticed it now. Herrah was leaning on her right leg. Herrah had slammed her unarmored kneecap into a metal table earlier this same week. Obi-Wan knew, he had _heard._

Jinn aimed for this knee now, and Obi-Wan desperately wished for his blaster, for a bloody lightsaber, for a _knife,_ as he heard his _buir_ scream. It was a silent scream, her helmet filtered out the noise, but he could see her body language, something Mandalorians relied on, something he had learned to rely on, and she couldn’t lie about this pain.

Jinn tried to take another swing, Obi-Wan, in a desperate moment, something he shouldn’t have let influence him, called on the force, and watched, in both wonder and horror, as Qui-Gon’s wrist turned in a way it never should have.

The horror was drowned in his worry however, and Obi-Wan scrambled to make his way to Herrah. Her knee plate was durasteel. Her knee plates were durasteel. So was her left shin, her entire right arm, he knew this, he knew this because the armorer had told him. Had complained about the _beskar_ shortages when he asked.

He knew, because he had done so himself, had witnessed firsthand, how easily a lightsaber could _melt_ through durasteel. It was with fear, and with adrenaline running through his veins, that he had forced Herrah to drop her hand, and he had looked at her knee.

It wasn’t as deep as it could have been, and that was the only consolation. Lightsaber wounds cauterized, didn’t bleed out, and neither did this one. But he could see how much of the flesh it had torn through, could see where a medic would be forced to separate her beloved _kute_ from the wound. He thought, absentmindedly, that he could see the bone.

Herrah suddenly turned, had looked at something behind him, and Obi-Wan, in the same thought, remembered Qui-Gon Jinn. She was shakily holding up her blaster, but it steeled with every second that passed. She tried, very very hard, not to move her knee.

Qui-Gon didn’t say a word, didn’t do anything but stare. Not at the damage he had done, but down at Obi-Wan, at Herrah, trying to protect him. A minute passed, a minute in silence, before Qui-Gon quietly, for perhaps the first time in his life, retreated.

  
Obi-Wan, he thought, could care about this later. He had a _buir_ to take care of, and he was sure to find bacta in the Neimodia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a little upset with how it turned out, but it works!! It's short, but it has far more emotion than I was initially expecting. I'm hoping that you guys enjoyed this.


	17. Kyr

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A surprise, because I wanted to and it's my fic cowards. Don't Like Don't Read very much applies to this one.

It was cold. Frost touched his cloak and didn’t want to let go. Every slow exhale was followed with a twisting cloud, the heat seeping from his bones, slowly and surely. His boots, worn, but sturdy enough to resist being soaked just yet, left tracks every step he took, followed by the telltale crunch on crisp snow underfoot.

There was little sound other than his own exhales and the accompanying footsteps carving out a path through the snow. The wind had calmed down overnight, and he was able to brush off the snow that had drifted onto him easily enough.

The planet was unusual with its weather patterns, but it was mostly always dry. Less dry as in desert, and more as in ‘stale’. Little humidity. As a result the same snow would likely stay on the ground until the planet hit it’s next solstice. He had come during the middle of the snows, and had woken up with a small pile half melted on him for three mornings now.

Everytime, he had woken up bleary eyed, and had needed to take off his cloak in its entirety in order to clear it off. Only a touch of the force and his own sensibilities kept his temperature stable. The morning winds did their best to infiltrate his robes, and the planet itself had been attempting to lower his core temperature. 

Before he learned the proper ratio for the atmosphere, he had woken up half-frozen, and the snow around him had simply stopped melting at some point as his body temperature dropped. He had very quickly adjusted after that, not desperate, but insistent on learning the proper amount needed.

Desperation was not fit for a Jedi. 

He ducked his head, flinching for mere moments, before he continued his trek. The force had called him here and he would never, under sound mind, deny it’s call. Even if the force had drug him out to a planet like this, so very different than the usual.

He gently pushed branches out of his way, unusual, the vegetation on this planet. It was cold enough to freeze a man to death during the night if caught unaware, and yet the trees here grew strong, leaves all year round, soft shades of yellow pigments.

They didn’t fall off naturally often, and he was grateful. Brushing snow off of himself was one thing, picking leaves out of his hair was another. He had spent enough time on Outer Rim planets to know that detangling it would’ve been incredibly difficult. His minimal layers alone we’re a problem to be dealt with here. 

The Outer Rim was mostly desert, to be fair, but it had it’s measures of ocean worlds and quiet little dwarf planets, with entire ecosystems caused by one tiny factor in the system. It was the Outer Rim, not yet wild space, and not the civilized gang territories. So many things could happen in mere moments out here, and that was part of the reason he lurked through it.

It needed help, like any other place in this galaxy, and a tiny curl of emotion, something he should have shoved down a long time ago, was happy to provide, pleased to serve. He was not suited to research or healing, tasks that kept him in one spot, but this worked for him.

Traveling the galaxy, helping those in need, those far away enough from the core to receive proper assistance always made him feel a little lighter. Made the lingering ideals from his master flinch away just long enough for a breath of air.

He quietly kneeled, gripping the edge of a rock shelf before soaring to the bottom in a force assisted fall, a mere moment later, he got up again, and watched his breaths permeate the air for a little while longer. He resumed treading through the snow once more, and paused.

Something was off. It wasn’t his own senses that noticed it in the end, it was the force. He gently caressed it, looking for the disturbance, big enough for him to need to pause here.

He knew he was here for a reason, but to be fair, he had to admit that he wasn’t entirely expecting to find another force user on this quiet little planet, hiding in the shadows of gas giants.

Two force users, if he was to be believed. Even more unusual. They didn’t ring out as Sith initially, so he exhibited less caution than he would otherwise, but he still placed his footsteps warily, still a man who had been caught unaware one too many times.

His footsteps fell softer, and he resisted the urge to adjust his boots that had finally succumbed to the cold and wet. He pulled his cloak tighter around himself, and followed the signal, pausing every few seconds to make sure he wasn’t simply going to get lost in the woods.

He made little sound as he approached, and the snow had been steadily coating his brown robes and cloak since he had woken up this morning, so he couldn’t really fault them for not spotting him initially. His force presence was also mostly concealed, so he couldn’t expect them to rely on that either.

The smaller one, pale with red hair noticed him first, shooting a startled look in his direction before letting out a tiny ‘eep’. The taller one, dark haired, soon noticed him after that. He made no move to conceal himself, but also made no move forward. He only realized how possibly intimidating this could be moments later when the taller one drew his lightsaber.

He stood there awkwardly for a few moments, letting the soft hum ring out for almost a solid minute before they finally realised that he had little intention to cause harm. Any other person might’ve taken their hood off at this point. He.. didn’t do that.

Something prodded at his tightly wrapped force presence, and in response, he let it flair just a little, a touch. The two Jedi visibly relaxed at that, and he made the rest of his way forwards, soft crunching, louder than before, ringing underfoot.

He paused, hesitated. “My apologies. I must have disturbed you.” It was perhaps, colder than it needed to be, but that really was his default in most situations. Or in general.

The taller one stood up straight, and clipped his lightsaber back to his belt. “I am Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn, and this is my Padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi.” He greeted in response. At the name of his padawan, he jerked his head slightly towards the only other force sensitive, as if he would’ve needed the guidance.

He knew it was more courtesy than anything, but it was still incredibly awkward, considering how isolated this planet was from the wider galaxy. There wasn’t exactly another person to nod to in this situation. 

He very politely shoved that thought in the back of his head, where it belonged.

“I am Jedi Master Jon Antilles. I would ask why you’re on Suris, especially at this time of year, but the force appears to have led us to a common goal here.” It made enough sense, he wouldn’t have been here otherwise, but the two Jedi, Master and Padawan, appeared to be confused at his statement, if not a little wary.

Qui-Gon, not just the dark haired one, spoke up. “I’m afraid I have little idea why we would encounter each other, Master Antilles.” It was said politely enough, but with it’s own touch of arrogance. He didn’t want to fall to assumptions, but he likely saw much use for the meeting at all. Perhaps it concerned his Padawan, or maybe he was simply blind the to the unifying force in the first place.

The Padawan furrowed his brows, ignoring his Master’s statement and contemplating it himself. Jon gave them a small smile under his hood, but he really could in the end care less, he was here for a reason, and saw no need to fuss over it until it presented itself. He trusted the force to guide him rightly.

Perhaps it was arrogance, and presumptuous to some, but Dark Woman hadn’t felt so about it, and in the end, it was something he ended up being comfortable with, despite the chill that ran down his spine when he actively followed her teachings in the end.

The two we’re kind enough to offer him shelter for the night, and he took it gracefully, finding a place to sit and dry his boots, brush off the white powder coating his cloak once more. He analyzed them with a sharp eye, and settled in for the meanwhile.

-

Suris was a dry, taiga covered planet, with soft yellow vegetation pigments being predominant and swirling skyscapes. You could spot nebulae if you settled down in the right spots, and the clouds we’re almost independent creatures most of the year. On the other hand, Suris had a very specific cold season, known for killing men when the worst fronts came around.

Those were the seasons when the system nebulae _glowed_ in the sky, and the viciously shaped clouds grew swollen with whatever precipitation they could gather. This process took weeks, and at the end of it, you prayed you didn’t get caught in the storms. The snow fell inches at a time, and the temperature steadily dropped, tick by tick until your warmth was stolen, and your sweat froze to your body.

Suris, most of the year, was gorgeous. And even it’s cold season had a specific athestical appeal when the light reflected off of the ground, but that did not prevent the planet from being harsh and cold and _miserable._ Obi-Wan was not mad at it, that was a darker emotion. He simply did not see the appeal, nor the reason why his master had decided to hideout here for the rest of the mission they had possibly blown.

The lights and nebulae, the clouds and pigmentation, did nothing to counteract the pure _chill_ that had sunk down into his bones. The winds blew down what had already fallen, and the tiny snowflakes stuck to his copper hair and melted on his skin in little bouts of freezing water. His cheeks were bright red and he spent an awful amount of time recycling whatever warm air he had, cupping his hands to his mouth.

His master seemed un-bothered most of the time, and Obi-Wan was shamefully jealous. Glaring slightly out of the corners of his eyes, wondering how exactly his master had apparently subverted the dreadful cold consuming everything in sight. He had pulled leaves off of things and watched them _shatter_ in his hands. His master strolling along in his usual wear was unfair. 

Though, he’d never admit it aloud. It was probably something he would be expected to pick up himself, and he was really just failing at whatever task Qui-Gon had assigned him inside of his mind. An irritating habit he held.

They had settled inside of a natural shelter, off the edge of a rather large and curvaceous rock shelf, seemingly extending for a while onwards. It wasn’t a perfect place to settle down temporarily, but the winds were blocked from one side, and that was usually the issue in the first place.

Obi-Wan had set up camp, and arranged a circle of stones as both a potential firepit and a marker, watching his master do _something_ out of the corner of his eye. His senses, straining to pick up anything from his master, instead picked up another sound, on the opposite side of the campsite. 

Obi-Wan didn’t raise any awareness of it, let it prickle at the back of his mind while he contemplated the possibilities. It wouldn’t make sense for it to have been any of the wildlife, because they very much would be hibernating or in their dens at this time of year. 

So that left few options. He turned his head to look towards the source, barely noticeable, if not for wisps of the force he could feel, barely there.

There was a figure. Cloaked in brown but still coated in snow, covering up the majority of the surface area visible to him. It was like spotting a doe. They stood stock still, and before Obi-Wan knew what was occurring, he had let out a small sound of surprise.

Qui-Gon quickly turned himself to his direction when that tiny noise came into existence, a scolding halfway to his mouth before he too noticed the cloaked figure, standing out in the snow as if it was never a bother. He instinctively reached for his lightsaber first, and the figure made no move to come closer.

He flicked the lightsaber on, and the green blade rang out, softly humming. It could almost be considered a standoff, but the figure just cleared his throat, and Qui-Gon flushed and flicked the blade off, after determining that he most likely would not do anything and that his fear was at least somewhat irrational.

The figure cleared their throat, almost hesitantly. “My apologies. I must have disturbed you.” Frankly, that was an understatement, to say the least. They had seemingly appeared from nowhere, made little to no sound and Obi-Wan probably wouldn’t have even noticed him if it hadn’t been for him being hyper aware due to the stress buildup.

That, he thought, would have been even more awkward if he had fallen into his default setting of tired instead. He watched Qui-Gon stiffen, clench a hand behind his back, and introduce himself mere moments after his lightsaber was properly secured. 

“I am Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn, and this is my Padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi.” The greeting was formal enough, but stiff, not that the figure really appeared to care. Obi-Wan was used to not being able to introduce himself, and simply shrugged it off. He wasn’t entirely sure why he was doing it in this specific equation, but Qui-Gon was unpredictable at worst and Obi-Wan really did want to get a good night's rest.

He had to say himself, he wasn’t entirely expecting what would occur next.

“I am Jedi Master Jon Antilles. I would ask why you’re on Suris, especially at this time of year, but the force appears to have led us to a common goal here.” The ominous wording, paired with the dark cloak fully concealing them from view, resorted to something that sent a slight chill down his spine, despite the reveal that he was indeed a Jedi.

It was another moment's consideration that made him ponder over the name, but Qui-Gon speaking again snapped him out of it momentarily. “I’m afraid I have little idea why we would encounter each other, Master Antilles.”

Oh force, one of these days someone was going to slap him upside the head and Obi-Wan would have no choice but to stare at the sky and accept it. His master was arrogant, and it did not suit _anyone_ well.

It was a moment's decision, and slight pity, after seeing the Jedi Master’s belongings, that made the two offer him a place by the rockshelf. He didn’t object, and this gave Obi-Wan the time he would need to contemplate the thought that had been cut off. Where had he heard that name before? He was entirely sure he had never met them before.

He cut a mysterious enough figure, drifting around the Outer Rim, to possibly be rec-. The archives. Obi-Wan stared just a little harder, put one hand up to his temples, and ignored the noise of concern _Jon kriffing Antilles_ let slip at him.

He remembered now, and he wasn;t entirely sure that that was much better. He was pretty sure him, alongside Shaak and Quin, had spent a horrifying amount of time trying to decipher his _death certificates._ He understood why Master Nu looked as tired as she did whenever she pointed them towards the next thing that needed filing and it was an empathy he hoped to never feel again.

Quinlan had even stopped joking once he had gone through the reports afterwards, and the proof that, no, he wasn’t dead yet, and that was concerning in and out of itself. Thinking about it, three padawans most definitely did not have the clearance to deal with half those files, though he supposed no one would try to ever tell Master Nu otherwise.

A valid fear, to be sure. 

Obi-Wan sighed, and remained silent, before he ended up blurting something he would regret later on. An impulse after remembering a semi-traumatic experience. “I’m pretty sure me and two friends of mine single handedly dismantled half of the reports on your death.” His tone was blunt, and exhausted, and that was all that was really appropriate for a statement like that. Antilles looked like a particularly startled cat at that, though he couldn’t really tell with the all accompanying hood blocking out his appearance. 

Qui-Gon Jinn had made an intelligent decision for once, and was sitting on the other side of the pit, away from Antilles and his Padawan. He could still feel his stare on his back, however, angled away from him.

Jon was hunched in on himself slightly, hiding from the cold still and he responded warily, as if Obi-Wan was going to stare him in the eyes and call him a disappointment. “..I’m sorry?” It was phrased more like a question than an actual apology, but still said with more emotion than half of his Master’s apologies.

Obi-Wan sputtered anyways, the fact that he really did let his mouth run hitting home in an instant. It was mere seconds before he sneezed, his body seemingly remembering what sort of condition it was in.

Something about this made Jon still. Before he angled himself towards him. “Do you know how to manipulate your body temperature?” It was said with the slightest tone of worry. Obi-Wan paused. He wasn’t even aware that it was possible, to be honest. He responded appropriately. “No.” He admitted, it was said with a helpless little shrug.

Master Antilles twisted his head around to analyze Qui-Gon, and his natural air of mystery twisted into something else for a split second. If he could’ve seen under the hood, he would’ve sworn it was something like a falcon watching a rattlesnake, wondering if they could get away with eating something they shouldn’t.

-

He didn’t know how the temple raised their padawans, never had, but a normally quiet little place in his brain wondered, as he subconsciously fussed.

He wouldn't have ever known about what they taught their younglings but he was severely confused at specific gaps of knowledge. There were many techniques that would be of use to any small person growing up, especially ones that ended up on the Outer Rim with their masters. Manipulating one’s temperature being a good example.

Jedi didn’t exactly carry weather appropriate gear everywhere, and the majority of the planets had spontaneous enough weather that such a small trick could easily be a good fit for nearly any repertoire. Being raised by Dark Woman wasn’t exactly a normal Padawanship and not exactly comparable, but he was an effective enough Jedi in the end.

He stared Jinn down, as if the answers would suddenly manifest, and the other Master had very clearly noticed at this point. He figured it couldn’t hurt too much to simply ask. He stood up and made his way to stand in front of him.

“Out of intellectual curiosity, when do initiates learn to fine tune their connection to the force?” He cocked his head, not that his expression was visible to the other man.

Qui-Gon was clearly holding back a scoff, only out of respect for another Jedi preventing it. “The children in the creche do not learn more advanced force techniques until they’re taken as Padawans, and considered worthy of high tutelage.” He explained.

Jon was.. Confused to say the least, and not just because initiates didn’t learn how to properly wield the force. If it was the padawan rank that granted access to higher learning, it still didn’t explain why Obi-Wan didn’t know such a common technique. Or at least briefed on it before coming to a planet like Suris in the middle of such a harsh season.

He inquired further. “Are there classes, or is their Master responsible for the teaching?” There was curiosity in his voice, but Qui-Gon was getting steadily more irritated by every question he should theoretically have the answer to. Jinn shot his eyes back up to his face before responding. “Master.”

That was concerning.

Qui-Gon was Obi-Wan’s Master, and based on the information he had been given by the man himself, it’d seem that he had assumed things of his Padawan or was simply neglecting his duties. Jon stood stock still, and let the snow drift onto himself as he contemplated. He didn’t know whatever personal situation was going on behind the scenes here, but it shouldn’t get his Padawan dragged up into it. Or, at least, that was his general assumption.

Dark Woman had at least taught him. Kept him alive in the crudest way possible. Cold and brutal, but efficient. She did not simply ignore lessons he needed to learn. He was looking into this, more and more, and the force was swirling. Jon had no talent for shatterpoints, but he assumed that he had possibly stumbled upon one here.

It was with a haphazard thought and a glance back at the camp that had done him in. He _was_ on Suris for a reason afterall. The force provides. Obi-Wan was heartbreakingly similar to himself.

He angled himself toward Qui-Gon, fingered his lightsaber, and sent a fresh flush of the force into his body, to chase away the cold. “Would you like a spar?” Jon asked simply, cocking his head.

It was under a surveyor's gaze that Qui-Gon made one of his last mistakes as Obi-Wan’s master.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jon Antilles is absolute free real estate, but I adore Blackkat's take on him, so this is mostly inspired by that. <3  
> Most people don't like him because he's not a fleshed out character, but I like to think that only makes it all the more fun.
> 
> -
> 
> Qui-Gon & Obi-Wan: This Jedi master is super intimidating and Scary™ I have no idea how to deal with this encounter whatsoever, this is like finding a Krayt Dragon in your backyard-  
> Jon: *anxiety* How have I managed to fuck everything up in two seconds can I talk about the leaves again?? One of these days I’m actually gonna freeze to death and no one (everyone) will be surprised.
> 
> Also Jon Antilles: You remind me far too much of my master, and your padawan reminds me far too much of myself, and by god is that in no way shape or form a kriffing complement. Please, for the love of the force, never raise another child.
> 
> Obi, seeing Jon without his hood: Well fuck, note to self, never let master Antilles go to Mandalore, he may never come back.


	18. Extras

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is bonus content, original summaries and a very special title thing. I'm intending to update this constantly.

This is honestly just a bunch of extra stuff that didn't fit. Most of my favorite plot ideas got stored away in the next fic, but this one is pretty full itself. First order of business, here's some google doc headings, because I can. A lot of these go to the next fic too, and may or may not include a draft or two, have fun guessing!

**The Random Mandalorian:**

#  **Quinlan Vos, Time Traveler Extraordinaire:**

**Herrah, Professional Henmother:**

**Jocasta Nu, Our God:**

**Tra Vod, Ka’ra Tal:**

**Lord Of The Skies And Valleys:**

#  **Herrah Explores Coruscant, And Is Very Confused:**

#  **Insert Placeholder Here:**

#  **Sit-rep From Command: Your Not Allowed To Die:**

**Call Your Smuggler (And Tell Them You Love Them):**

**Shoot The Messenger (Or He’ll Shoot You First):**

#  **Take Your Stowaways And Bare Your Teeth:**

#  **Back To Your Scheduled Programing:**

#  **Avoiding Planetary Suicide, The Relevation:**

#  **Feral Jedi And What Is Basically An Army Of Children:**

#  **“--Lieutenant _NO!_ ”:**

#  **Sit By My Forge, Of Centuries and Family:**

#  **Space And Qui-Gon Jinn Didn’t Mix, My Apologies:**

#  **“..Is that allowed.” “IT IS NOW TROOPER.”:**

#  **Some Things Should Stay Dead And Gone:**

#  **Blood Calls To Blood, And The Vierns Have The Eyes Of Hawks:**

**“There’s a 1/3791 chance of this going horribly wrong.”:**

**The Glare In Your Eyes Is A Reason Why I Love You So: *Draft!!**

#  **Qui-Gon Has Made A Fucking Mistake:**

#  **Finale:**

I have?? No idea?? Why it formatted itself like this, please don't ask.

Original idea for the FInale: (I tried, but it was fucking l o n g)

Jon Antilles, because _i fucking can_ He duels Quiggs for padawan rights after he sees how much of himself he reconizes in Obi, it makes him very uncomfy and he resolves to fix that. 

After the duel, it’s a little emotional unwinding, partially Jon stressing because he has (0) idea how to raise a padawan. 

Injury: Wrist, and I guess losing his entire fucking hand. Qui-gon in this verse believes that he was destined to raise Obi here, _but he’s really bad at it._ He makes a swipe after the duel is officially over and uh. _Jon Antilles isn’t a legend for nothing guys._

I can't really think of anything else off the top of my head, other than Kisa has weird pronouns and Herrah is Ace if you somehow already didn't pick that up.

Oh and, _I'll see you next month. ;)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgot to mention, but I'll answer plot related questions in the comments if you have them, I know a lot of you guys don't get to see the stuff that the people on disc do.


End file.
